A Face in the Crowd
by Singingsprite
Summary: Keren is a healer of Minas Tirith, in love with Faramir, the untouchable son of the steward. Someone is watching over her, and the only clue she has as to who is a small, clear crystal. The war of the ring brings her new friends who help to shape her future, including the elf, Legolas. A tale of choices - how much does Keren truly control her fate? Begins during ROTK.
1. Chapter One - The Siege of Minas Tirith

**Author note: Oh gosh, here goes. This is the first ever fan-fic that I've even thought of publishing, so I hope you enjoy it. It's been plotted right up to the end, and the first few chapters have been written, but it's set to be a bit of a behemoth!**

 **I** **surprised myself by just how book-verse this is. I've spent a small age researching timelines, cultures and characters, which I weirdly enjoyed. Saying this,** **I portray most of the characters in their movie-guise, although the men and elves are taller! The only real exception is Faramir - I've always pictured him with dark hair as he is described by Tolkien. If you don't know her work already, check out the beautiful sketches and paintings by Anke Eissmann.**

 **I've included quite a few characters from the books who missed out on movie-stardom too!**

 **There will be a couple of occasions where I have lifted small pieces of dialogue straight from the book, but these are few and far between. Obviously I don't own those bits, or indeed any of Tolkien's characters, locations, objects or plot-lines! I do take ownership of my OCs - someone's got to look after them!**

 **Reviews are very much appreciated!**

 **Happy reading xxx**

* * *

 **Chapter One - The Siege of Minas Tirith**

For the second day the dawn brought no light.

A darkness from the east was spreading towards Minas Tirith, blocking out the might of the sun. The winged shadows were still making their presence known, as high shrieks were heard from far up in the sky above the plains, sending fear straight to the heart of all below. The might of Mordor was near to overcoming the men of Gondor. All the women and children, apart from the healers, had been ordered to flee the city and make for the south – safer they would be there than trapped in the heart of a city under siege. The feeling of panic was close to the surface amongst all who remained, but in the lower circle of the city, just before the gate, a strange, still moment of quiet was taking place.

Faramir, son of Denethor, was riding to his doom.

His thin face was set and his grey eyes were stony. His dark hair was hidden by his helmet, although tendrils of it blew around his neck. The conversation he had had with his father echoed through his head as he and his company processed down through the levels of the city.

 _I do not oppose your will, sire. Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will go and do what I can in his stead – if you command it._

 _I do so._

 _Then fare well! But if I should return, think better of me!_

 _That depends on the manner of your return._

It was a strange procession, understandably, for Faramir and his company were not riding to glory or victory, more an act of desperation. The Riders of Rohan had not yet appeared, and now Gondor's only hope in glory lay in their small remaining bands of men defending the great river Anduin and the fields of the Pelennor. Faramir knew their number was too small against the numbers of the enemy he had witnessed amassing at the Black Gate. He knew that his father, knowingly, had sent him on a fool's mission, most likely to his death. Mithrandir had counselled him not to be bitter and throw his life away, as he was needed.

 _For other things than war_ , the wizard had said.

But Faramir was no coward, and would lead his troops bravely, fighting to his last breath to defend his home. He could not help but wonder if he would feel much fear, much pain, before the end.

The small crowd lining the streets were not cheering or rejoicing, and the silence was enough to make even the bravest man nervous. Looking around, one man's face was the same as any other, saddened at the sacrifice their fellow men were making. A small few had allowed tears to show in their eyes, but this show of emotion meant little to Faramir. He did not know them, and he never would. Those who wept for him and his men wept in vain.

 _They should cry for their own fate, not ours_ , he thought, _for their deaths will come soon after mine if I should fail._ _And they know that that is all I can do. Their tears say as much._

The horses went through the city at a slow steady pace, the fear of their masters not affecting their graceful movements. But Faramir did not feel fear at this moment – the time for being afraid had passed. He knew what he had to do, and now he was simply resigned to it. A strange calm was upon him.

Some of his men had a flower or token of some sort attached to their armour or held in their hand - gifts of love, of hope, from their loved ones. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, little brothers, sisters, wives, children, all wept for their sons, grandsons, brothers, husbands, fathers.

There was no one to weep for Faramir, no tokens of good luck or protection for him to clench tightly in his fist.

 _The highest ranking man among them,_ he thought bitterly, _and yet the most alone._

He held the reins of his horse tightly instead, fixing his eyes on the gate at the edge of the city. He concentrated on the sound of his horse, his beloved Celtir, clopping out a regular rhythm on the stone beneath his hooves, but he could not ignore the cries from the guard as they neared the great gate. Steel and iron squeaked as the great doors opened at their command, loud and unwelcome in the silence.

The fields of the Pelennor lay before him, green and peaceful. He shuddered as he realised that he would shortly be riding over them perhaps for the last time, unless he was carried back across them as a corpse. He cursed himself for thinking such a thought, but also for being so foolish as to think that his body may be found and brought home. A shallow ditch was no doubt his fate, along with those that followed him - followed him willingly, he knew.

He was grateful that he did not have a wife, a family, to worry about as he rode away. At least he was leaving nothing behind. There was no-one after him.

The gates seemed to take an age to open as they approached, but eventually the creaking and groaning stopped, and their path lay clear ahead of them, straight across the fields, towards Osgiliath and the river. Beyond that ruined place the mountains of shadow rose, dark and brooding, the sight of them inescapable as they dwarfed the landscape around them.

His men surrounding him were trying their best not to appear afraid. Their mouths were set in grim lines, trying to stop their teeth from chattering. He halted his horse and turned to speak to those closest to him.

"Look your last at our fair city," he said quietly to them. "Hold this moment in your minds until the end. Remember this place."

As he turned back to the open gates something caught his attention – a flash of colour amongst the black cloaks of his men and the old men in the crowd, a few rows back. It stopped him in his tracks.

He brought his horse to a halt, almost hypnotised by the rich dark green shade, filled with something he did not expect to feel.

Hope. The colour of nature, of renewal, of life, made him remember what it was to have hope.

But surely it was too late for hope now?

He was about to look away, to turn his face toward the road again, when he realised the wondrous colour was the fabric of a gown, and he had been staring rather too hard at a young woman's body. Tearing his eyes away from the vivid colour, meaning to look to the fields, he looked instead at the girl's face.

Afterwards, he could never say why he looked at her, and perhaps things would have been very different if he had not. Unaware that he was doing so, he smiled at her.

She was not quite beautiful, he thought, at least not from this angle – her cheeks were a little too broad and her long dark hair more than a bit tangled. Her eyes were large, a deep dark brown. He put her as younger than himself by more than a decade, perhaps just into her twenties. She was quite small, and pale, as if she had just recovered from some illness that had drained her a little. At first sight she appeared frail, but one flash of her eyes and he knew that was not the case – there was a strength in them that shone through her tears.

And that was why he smiled – because he knew she was crying for him.

He did not know how he knew. It seemed that she was mourning for him as a man, rather than for the distant and untouchable son of the steward. He was comforted a little.

She looked as if she was relieved, rather than happy, that he had caught her eye. She did not smile back at him, but nodded, as if in recognition, although he was certain that he had never seen her before in his life.

Her mouth was shut, and he could tell she was trying to stop her bottom lip from wobbling. Tears ran silently down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away, and held his gaze with her own. He was conscious that he was still, unmoving, and that the rest of the company had halted behind him, no doubt wondering what the delay was. And yet he found that he could not look away. Her eyes held him there.

She mouthed something, but he did not catch it in time. He looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head slightly and looked down.

The spell was broken, and he looked away, clicking to Celtir to walk on. The sound of hoof beats as the company moved off again was almost deafening to him after the silence of that strange moment.

He did not know who she was, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming sadness at the thought that he would never see her again. Despite her tears, there seemed to be an aura of hope around her, and he knew it would be her face he saw as he rode into battle.

He looked back over his shoulder, wanting a last glimpse of her.

He half expected her to be gone, vanished away into the air like the dream she had seemed to be, but no, she was still standing there, although a little obscured now by the people in front of her. She was still looking down, and was he imagining it, or was she weeping silently in earnest now, her hand to her mouth to keep in her sobs? He willed her, with all his might, to look up, to look at him. He did not understand why she was crying so much for his sake, but it grieved him, and he wanted to comfort her. He thought about turning back, but knew he could not.

Ignoring his second in command calling his name, he remained looking backwards as he passed through the great wooden doors of the gate, through the thick walls of the city. Soon she would be out of sight, and he would be alone again.

 _Look at me_ , he begged her silently. _Look at me._

As if she had heard his thoughts, her head snapped up, and her eyes immediately found his. Without knowing why, he raised his hand, a farewell gesture to this complete stranger who had suddenly filled him with hope. She closed her eyes and smiled, as if she had heard the sweetest strain of music, or felt the warmth of the sun on her face.

The gates began to close as the last of the company passed through. All too soon she was taken from his sight, and if when she opened her eyes again she was looking back at him, he would never know.

He turned his face to the road and his men followed behind. The gates closed shut behind them, with an ominous thud.

 _Farewell_ , he thought, to the city, to his father, to any real chance of return. And to her.

There was silence, still, from behind the walls.

"Come!" he cried, rallying his men. "This day we leave the greatest city ever known to the race of men. Ride with me, to fight, to die for it! Ride, ride now! For the people of Minas Tirith! For the people of Gondor!"

He raised his sword and heard the sound of his men yelling behind him – cries of 'Faramir! Faramir!' and 'for Gondor!'

He could not help but wonder if she had heard his cry, what her name was, what she did, whether she had a family.

Why had she even been there? She had not been wearing the strict garb of a healer, and all other women had fled.

And why had she been crying for him? Not just crying – it looked as though her heart was breaking. But how could that be? She was a stranger to him.

And yet a stranger that seemed to know him. He did not even know her name.

Perhaps that was what she had tried to tell him, but he had been too distracted by her eyes to catch the words she had uttered silently. He cursed himself for that. And he cursed this battle too. Her heart was already breaking, he had seen it, and he wasn't dead yet. The thought of her grieving even more hurt him.

He did not understand it, any of it, but he knew the girl loved him.

 _Alas, all hope is gone for her,_ he thought _. Her fate lies not with me. My life ends in Osgiliath._

* * *

 **Three days later**

Keren, who had been working in an almost mechanical state for the past two days – not allowing herself time to stop and think about what was happening beyond the great defensive wall around the Pelennor, eating small morsels merely to give her enough energy for her work, and sleeping little – was just about to retire in the early hours of the morning when news came to the Houses of Healing.

She was exhausted. The wounded survivors of the stand at Osgiliath had started pouring in in the last few hours. Some had grave wounds. Some had died. She was mightily relieved when Ioreth came to relieve her post.

Her courage was already starting to fail – amongst all the survivors he had not yet appeared.

 _So either he is uninjured, or he is…_

She shook her head, heading for her room, knowing that if her thoughts followed that course she would go under.

She knew she needed sleep if she was to help the men in her care, but when she saw a messenger from the citadel heading towards the warden's office the idea of sleep fled and she followed him. No real news of the stand had come through and she was desperate to know what had occurred. The wounded in her care were either unconscious or were understandably not speaking of the events and she had not pressed them.

Keren, knowing that she could well lose her place for it, stood with her ear to the door and listened, preparing herself for the news that she had known would come.

"'Tis grave tidings I bring, sir." She could hear the voice of the messenger muffled through the thick wooden door. "The Lord Faramir's men were outnumbered ten to one and had to retreat. The Rammas Echor was breached and they fled for their lives. The Lord Denethor sent out a sortie to come to their aid, and the Prince of Dol Amroth sent his men in to protect the retreat. But there were orcs, Southrons and, worst of all sir, those great winged shadows."

The messenger's voice halted and Keren almost cried with frustration. What did this mean?

His voice picked up again, but was so quiet in the telling that she could not hear properly through the door what was being said.

"…wizard came and sent the dark shadows away…gained courage and fought bravely…but Lord Faramir was struck…a poisoned arrow…Prince Imrahil bore him home…"

Keren clung to the door handle, trying to keep her legs from buckling. It had happened then. He was dead. The prophecy had been wrong.

She did not know what to think or what to do other than to collapse, but she would not allow herself to do that.

It seemed the only way to keep herself from collapsing was to run.

She ran straight out of the Houses, by the quickest route, and then, without really knowing where she was headed, ended up following the well-worn paths that led to the gardens, overlooking the city and the Pelennor.

But she was to find no solace there, for the Pelennor could no longer be seen. A complete blackness lay over all, hiding any horrors that could be furtively creeping across the plains. This was more than the black of night. A total dearth of light had crept from the black land, and now it had reached its target. The great city, the home she loved, was blind.

Keren felt as if her heart had been cut out.

She had felt the threads that held it together begin to fray on the day that he had ridden away, but now it was gone, gone completely. In this terrifying darkness she wondered at how she had the strength to still be standing.

But stand she did, for the few remaining hours before daybreak, looking out over the walls, her arms wrapped around her waist, as if holding herself together. In the blackness she was not aware of time passing.

It was only when the weak semblance of dawn broke, bringing a sickly yellow half-light to her eyes, and she had begun to shiver from the cold, that she even realised what she was now looking at, what the blackness had hidden from her. The Pelennor was filled with a new kind of darkness.

As far as she could see were the armies of the enemy. Tents were pitched, trenches were dug and commands, bellowed in a tongue strange to her, carried through the air. The mountains of the Black Land stood threatening, far off in the distance, but seeming larger and nearer than they truly were. And over all this several shadows moved in the sky, uttering shrill cries. Minas Tirith was besieged.

Terror filled her, and she longed for her mother's arms and her warm bed, in the house of her childhood. But another family lived there now, and her mother had been dead for nine long years.

That was when the tears finally came. Her body suddenly seemed to realise that it had had no true rest, and very little food, since the day he had left, and now she realised it had all been for naught. She had foolishly clung to hope, for naught. He was dead.

Exhausted, she turned her face away from the desolate scene and stumbled her way back into the Houses of Healing.

"Keren?" A familiar voice. An old face swam into view – Ioreth. "Keren whatever have you been doing? Don't you know the city is under siege? We will soon be even more overrun with the wounded and you have not…" The old woman tailed off as she saw Keren's tears. "Oh child," she said. "These are frightening times for us all, but we have a job to do. Forget all that is happening outside the walls and concentrate on healing the poor souls who will need our help before the day is out. Come on now, a quick wash of your face and then away with you to the warden for your duties."

Keren nodded blindly. Ioreth was more often than not a wittering old fool, but none could deny her skill as a healer and she was known to produce good advice when it was most needed.

Keren rushed back to the cupboard-like room that served as a bedroom for her and her sister, knowing Ioreth spoke the truth. She was not to know that Keren had spent her few allotted hours for sleep staring over the walls, and Keren knew she had to get on with her job regardless. She was terrified, and had no idea what lay ahead. Her fear of death was not strong, but her fear of pain was. Having worked as a healer since she was a child she knew what pain looked like. But she had a job to do. If she could save lives this day, then no matter how much her heart was aching she would.

She grabbed the bucket from the floor, already filled with water. Palen must have prepared it.

 _Palen. Where is she?_

The water was still warm so she could not have been gone long. Keren had expected her sister to be here, asleep. She had worked until the early hours and was supposed to be resting before her work began again at midday. She must have been called by Ioreth to work early.

Keren was slightly relieved – she could not bear it if her sister were to see her like this. She wondered if the news of the Lord Faramir had reached her.

Keren had to be alone to grieve, as she had been when their mother died, letting no one even come in to her room for three days. Hopefully Palen would remember that and leave her alone.

 _Not that we will have much time to be alone_ , Keren thought, knowing the days ahead were to be filled with constant work. If they survived.

* * *

All day, even with no rest the night before, Keren worked tirelessly. She had no idea what was happening outside the Houses of Healing. Occasionally shouts and screams were heard close by, and sometimes the screeches of the winged shadows would pierce their hearts and cause all to stop and stare upwards in fear. Loud booms would make the Houses tremble, and Keren could only imagine that the great walls of the lower levels of the city were being gradually destroyed.

The sickly light of false day turned into the total darkness of night, and men were still brought in. They had run out of beds and were now having to treat men on the floor space between, and in the corridors. The Houses were supposed to be a place of peace and respite, but at this time they were hell. Men were dying, even as she held their hands, some calling for their wives or children. Some of them, younger than her, called for their mothers. But she did not break. The dead were laid out as respectfully as could be, but once Keren was forced to drag the body of a young man covered in naught but a single sheet off a desperately needed bed and along the corridors to the large room acting as a morgue, as there was no one free to help her carry it. At one point she laughed hysterically at the thought of what she was doing, and wondered if she was going mad.

All the healers, young and old, were working constantly. Occasionally Keren's path crossed Palen's and the looks they shared said more than any words could. Through the night they worked, and some of the men they were healing were still alive, and some were not. Keren had given up washing the blood off her arms as no sooner had she cleaned herself then the next casualty was brought in. Now there was the blood of many men caked into her skin, wiped on her clothes, on her face, in her hair. She had no time to stop and think how hungry she was, or how tired, or how much more of her strength she could give.

She was stitching up the side of a man of about her father's years when suddenly it happened. A great shaking and a boom, far louder and more powerful than any before. All stopped in their work and wondered what had occurred. A pause, then three times more it came, and with the final great boom lightning split the sky so the candlelit ward was for a moment filled with a stark white light, and all the fear and dread on the faces of those in that place was laid bare.

"The gate!" someone cried. "They're trying to bring down the great gate!"

They were quickly silenced in order for panic not to spread, but the seed was sown and a strange quiet came over the room as everyone turned inward to their thoughts. Had they succeeded? If the gate to the city had been breached then there truly was no hope, as that was the city's last defence. If they could bring down the gate that everyone said could not be breached, then how easily could the forces of the enemy break through the smaller gates of each level until they were upon the sixth where the Houses stood? Keren felt a moment of utter terror, but she forced down the bile that had risen in her throat and smiled at the man she was tending.

"Your wound is clean, all should be well," she said quietly.

"But to what end?" he replied. "The city is taken."

So cast down was he that she could not reply, but set to the last of the stitches, her hand only shaking slightly. As she snipped the thread and tied the ends she noticed how silent the ward had fallen. The cries of the badly wounded and dying were faint, and there was no conversation between the healers and their charges. All was still and tense. The sounds of the battle seemed distant and vague after the attack on the gate which had shaken the whole city, perhaps even old Mindolluin himself.

But then, as another dim grey dawn broke, came another unexpected sound, one Keren could not believe she was hearing. The cry of many horns. Horns from a great distance – they must have been very great in number for their sound to carry so far. Without thinking she ran to the small window next to the end bed and stared greedily at the sight that met her eyes.

A great host of men on horseback were beginning a charge at full pelt towards the army of the enemy – so many that it looked as if a whole country had been mustered. And then she remembered – Rohan! They had answered the call.

Swiftly they flew down the hillside towards the enemy and golden they looked as they were lit by the rising sun.

 _The sun_! Keren belatedly realised what she was seeing. _A real dawn_!

She opened the window wide and leaned out, feeling the warmth on her face. She gasped in wonder at what she saw. The sun, seeming red with anger, blazed down on the riders, lighting their path. So fierce and terrifying they looked as they clashed with the enemy that she almost looked away but found she could not. Arrows were flying, spears were thrown, swords and their strange helmets, all adorned with horse hair flying behind, were glinting in the sun. A strange sound rose up from the battlefield – the riders of Rohan were singing as they killed. She could not believe what she was seeing, and felt tears of awe grow in her eyes.

"Keren!" A shrill shout tore her gaze away. "Away from that window and back to work! How dare you?"

She had to smile at Ioreth in her joy.

"But Rohan has come," she cried. "The riders – we are saved!"

A great shout went up in the ward from all those who were able. It felt as if the light was returning, and, though still ignorant of all else that was occurring, they felt a great joy in their hearts. And old Ioreth, with a tear in her eye and a smile, nodded and said: "Back to work though, child."

* * *

The wounded were still being brought in thick and fast, as the sun climbed in the sky. Keren and the other healers still had not stopped for rest or refreshment, for the need of those in their care was greater. The pile of dead, for a disordered pile it had become, was growing, but some men who had only minor wounds had already been released from the Houses. Since the arrival of the men of Rohan it felt to Keren that sometimes the air in the wards was less foul, and she finally made time to clean the blood off her arms and face once more.

As she leant over the bucket a great scream went up from the battlefield, causing her to look across to the windows, but all she could see from this angle was sky. It rent the hearts of all, as no one could escape the sound. The distance must have been great, but the scream seemed to be heard and felt within their very souls. Keren felt dizzy with panic and could not breathe. All of her fears and troubles over Faramir were pulled to the surface; all of the memories of her mothers' last days were brought to the fore, threatening to overwhelm her with sorrow. She shut her eyes and clenched her teeth against the pain.

But then the scream faded, and straight away a hope seemed to rise in Keren and, it appeared, all those around her. The sun seemed yet brighter and warmer, and a feeling of calm descended through the Houses of Healing. Those who were dying felt at peace, and those who were healing felt a new energy surge through them.

As for Keren, she simply smiled to herself, and thought of Faramir. Why this happened she did not know, as she had heard very clearly that he was dead.

She continued to wash the blood from her arms methodically, allowing her mind to focus on work once more.

At that moment a great pounding on the main doors to the Houses began. She was the only one not busy with a charge and so made haste to answer it, running out to the hallway. With a turn of the large metal ring-pull and a great heave she pulled open one of the doors – they were old and heavy, designed to keep any unwanted visitors away. A wave of nausea went over her as the physical effort took its toll on her lack of food and sleep. She swayed a little and leant on the door frame for support.

"Are you alright?" A young male voice asked. She nodded, eyes closed, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"I am well, thank you," she said, feeling the faintness pass. "How can I help…" She looked up to see who had spoken to her but saw only stone walls. Then she registered a small figure looking up at her, no bigger than a ten-year-old boy, but with the face of a young man. "…you?" She tailed off, staring.

There was a tut from behind him.

"This is no time for introductions to hobbits," a man's voice said. "Keren, allow us to pass, I will explain all as we walk."

"Beregond!" Keren said in recognition as she tore her eyes from the strange creature in front of her.

The guard of the citadel regarded her with anxious eyes. She looked as bad as he felt.

"Bergil is not here, I am sorry," she said, "I have not seen him for days."

"My son is safe and well Keren, I thank thee," he said quickly. "I do not seek him, but I must enter, and swiftly."

She nodded. "Of course."

No doubt he had another message for the warden – perhaps the battle was won? But he turned his back to her and stooped to pick up something that had previously been hidden behind him and the strange little man. It was a body laid out on a bier – no, not just a body, or why would he bring it to the Houses? The man must still live.

As Beregond turned and held the man, cradled in his arms, Keren saw that it was none other but Faramir.

Her face must have shown her shock as Beregond said grimly: "Now you see why there is need of haste."


	2. Chapter Two - The hands of a healer

**Author note: Firstly apologies for my really long introduction on the last chapter! I waffle way too much. I don't own Tolkien's creations obvs, just my OCs and what happens to them. Please review if you have the time!**

* * *

 **Chapter Two - The hands of a healer**

Time seemed to move differently for Keren. She knew she was running down the corridor towards the warden's room – it was the only private space she could think of according to Faramir's rank – and yet she could not seem to make her legs move fast enough. Beregond was talking constantly, telling her hurriedly all that had transpired to bring them to this point, but she was not taking all of it in. She could not make herself think straight. She was glad, glad beyond any joy she had ever felt – to think that he was alive! But Beregond's words: 'wounded…perhaps mortal…may be dying' pressed at her temples, almost deafening her. To hear, mistakenly she now realised, that he was dead, only to see him alive was one thing. But the fact that he was barely alive and could, after all, shortly be taken from her, was almost too much to bear.

His face was the colour her mother's had been as she lay still and silent on her death-bed. His hair lay stuck to his forehead and the nape of his neck with sweat. She couldn't believe it when she saw his chest rising up and down, with slow and steady breaths. He was deeply unconscious, and clearly burning with fever.

Once within the warden's room Beregond lay Faramir on the bed.

"Stay with him, keep an eye on his breathing. Sit by him and rest while you can, you look dead on your feet," Beregond said. "Where can I find the warden?"

"He should be in the main ward," Keren replied. "If you cannot find him speak to Ioreth."

Beregond left swiftly. The little creature scurried after him.

Keren took a deep, steadying breath in the silence. For the first time in her life, she was alone with Faramir.

She tentatively reached out and lifted his shirt, where she saw blood, to see the extent of any wound there may be. On his left side, close to his heart, there was a small amount of blood on his skin, fairly fresh. Someone had removed the arrow, with a skilled hand she noticed, and made the effort to staunch the flow and clean the wound. It would simply need cleaning again, perhaps some stitches and to be bandaged. The incision was small and shallow. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

But then she remembered the muffled tidings she had heard through the door to the warden's office – a poisoned arrow. It was not the wound that was fatal, but death was spreading through his veins. She took his hand within her own and tried to calm her sudden tears and ragged breathing in case Beregond returned with the warden.

This was certainly not how she had imagined the first time she touched him to be, and she did not wish to savour the moment.

She knew he was unaware of her being there, unaware of anything, but she felt herself gaining strength with his hand in hers, and she hoped that he was getting strength from her.

After a couple of minutes, which seemed to drag on and on to Keren, Beregond, the little man and the warden entered the room. She hastily dropped Faramir's hand. She did not think anyone had seen, but the small creature gave her a questioning, strange look as he left the room once more with Beregond.

"Forgive me, sir," she said to the warden once they were alone. "I could not think where else to bring him."

The warden shook his head, then placed his hand on Faramir's forehead.

"You did the right thing Keren," he said. "All he needs is peace. There is little we can do except attempt to bring his fever down."

Keren stared up at him.

"Then he will die?" she asked.

"I hope, for all our sakes, not," he replied. "But he was struck with a poisoned arrow, and he has been left long without any treatment. The poison must be well into his blood by now, it has been two days since he was struck."

"Why has he only been brought here now?" Keren asked, anguished. He could have been saved if they had acted with more haste. All this time thinking he was dead when he had been lying, weak but alive, just one level above where she was.

The warden looked towards the door, sighed, then walked over and bolted it. He turned to face her.

"These tidings must stay between us for now," he said seriously. "In this room, in our charge, lies the new steward of Gondor. Lord Denethor has… succumbed to grief." He shook his head. "Beregond's tidings were grave. Seeing Lord Faramir injured, so struck down with madness was Lord Denethor that instead of trying to save his son's life, he wished to end it, along with his own. He perished in flame, in his attempt to burn Faramir's body."

Keren stared down at Faramir, dumbstruck. She did not ask questions, as she did not wish to know any more. Sensing her discomfort, the warden went on.

"I will treat the wound in his side and bring his temperature down the best I can," he said. "Run and fetch leeches and dressings, some barley, honey and turpentine. Also vinegar, coriander and mint. I will make a purge if he gains consciousness."

Keren nodded and went to the store.

Once Faramir had been leeched and his wound treated and bandaged the warden looked at her warily.

"Keren, when was the last time you slept?" he asked.

She shrugged. "The same time as all of us sir," she replied. "I don't think any of us can remember."

He looked grim.

"You must stay vigilant," he said. "The Lord Faramir is our most important charge. I must go and patrol the wards, but I would not have you watch him if you're likely to collapse yourself."

"I can watch him," she said, far sharper than she intended to. "I'll be fine."

He frowned, about to say something else, when another set of knocking began on the doors to the Houses. The warden sighed.

"I will attend to that," he said. "Watch his breathing and keep notes on any changes. Call for Ioreth if he worsens, I do not care what she is doing or who she is tending, she is to come."

"Yes sir," she said.

The warden left, leaving the door wide open, a welcome breeze flowing into the room. Keren wondered if she should stand and shut the door, but decided that fresh air in the small room would be pleasant. After only a few seconds she heard what sounded like many feet rushing down the corridor. The warden passed back by the open door, followed by a strange old man garbed all in white, carrying a staff. Behind them two men were carrying a litter, and on the litter was… a woman. A gravely injured woman it seemed. Keren had only the time to register that thought before they were gone.

She turned back to Faramir. Minutes later a small knock on the open door alerted her to the presence of Bergil, Beregond's son.

"Bergil!" Keren said, relieved. "You're alright!"

Despite his father already telling her this, she was glad to see him with her own eyes. The lad was hard working, merry and mischievous, and she had a strong maternal pull towards him, despite there only being ten years between them. He had refused to flee with his mother and younger brother.

"I have a message for Mithrandir," he said quickly. "There is a perian, a sick one, with another perian, in the city and he needs to… to – "

"Wait, Bergil, wait," Keren said. "Who is Mithrandir?"

"The wizard!" he said, excitedly. "The white wizard!"

Keren then knew the identity of the strange old man that had passed by.

"He went that way," she pointed down the corridor towards the wards.

Bergil nodded, turned and ran. Keren knew not what to think, so went back to what she had been doing – watching for any sign of change in Faramir's condition.

Again she took his hand, again she touched his forehead. Again there was no change.

* * *

What felt like an age later a glance out of the window told her that it was still full day, and therefore it must have only been a few hours since Beregond had brought Faramir to them. She did rise to shut the door now, as the breeze was becoming a chill. It felt like she was shutting the world out.

She went back to his bedside and again took his hand, and sat with him in silence, until the sun started to set. Its warm light shone through the window and illuminated his face, turning grey to gold. It looked, for a moment, as if his health was returning, but it was a cruel trick of the light. Keren was near to despair.

Just as she bowed her head in despondence the door burst open. She stared up at the intruder, still clutching Faramir's hand. A figure stood in the doorway and it seemed as if Keren viewed an all-powerful being – she was blinded by the power it exuded. But then the glamour faded and she was looking at a weary old man leaning on a staff. An old man with a white cloak and a white beard. Mithrandir.

He came gently into the room, not commenting on the hand of the sick man that was still very much within Keren's grasp. He placed a hand on Faramir's forehead and immediately muttered, "black shadow," and sighed.

Trotting behind him came Ioreth, who immediately started weeping at the sight of Faramir.

"Alas! if he should die," she said through her tears. Keren had never seen Ioreth cry and it brought her own tears to the surface. "Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer._ And so the rightful king could ever be known."

The wizard, still with the cooling hand on Faramir's forehead, froze. He muttered something under his breath, that sounded to Keren a little like _wisdom from fools._

Then he spoke aloud. "Men may long remember your words, Ioreth! For there is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have you not heard the strange tidings that have come to the City?"

"I have been too busy with this and that to heed all the crying and shouting," Ioreth said. "All I hope is that those murdering devils do not come to this House and trouble the sick."

The wizard's face reverted back to annoyance and weariness, and he swiftly turned on his heel and left, leaving Ioreth and Keren looking at each other in silence. Keren did not want to think on what 'black shadow' was. She had never heard of it, so how could she cure him of it?

Ioreth looked pointedly at Keren and Faramir's hands entwined. Keren sighed and laid his hand back on the bed without giving an explanation. She did not care what Ioreth thought. She did not care about anything anymore except seeing Faramir live. Ioreth let it pass.

"We all care for him, Keren," she said simply.

"There has been no change," Keren said, almost under her breath. "His fever still rages."

Ioreth made a small sound of disappointment in the back of her throat, drew up a stool and sat across the bed from Keren.

"Do you have any news?" Keren asked. "I have been sat in this room all day, I could not leave him."

Ioreth, at the mention of news and despite her tiredness, looked fit to burst.

"A noble lady has been brought in, a shieldmaiden they are calling her," Ioreth began. "Her name is Eowyn. She is the niece of the king of Rohan. Or I should now say the sister of the new king. King Theoden perished in the battle."

Keren sighed, taking the news of yet another death in. But Ioreth did not give her time to dwell as she continued with her tale.

"Shortly after Mithrandir brought her in, he left, only to return with two perian, one of them gravely wounded."

"Perian?" Keren queried.

"Only he called them hobbits," Ioreth said, not hearing Keren. "Little people, halflings, whatever you want to call them."

All was made clear to Keren.

"I must have seen one of them when Beregond brought Lord Faramir in, although he was not injured."

"Ah, that must have been the one who went and pledged allegiance to the Lord Denethor," Ioreth explained. "The Prince of all the halflings I have heard say he is. He is now a guard of the citadel, can you believe! Such things happening in our city, we do live in strange times." She chuckled and Keren welcomed the sound. She could not remember when she had last heard laughter.

She gazed back down at Faramir. It seemed strange to be talking over him as he slept.

"The lady and the perian are suffering from a strange malady," Ioreth went on, suddenly serious again. "Their injuries are not what ails them. The lady's left arm was crushed beneath her shield, and broken, but we have set it and it will heal. The halfling has barely a scratch on him. Rather they sleep, but not a restful sleep. They are cold, so deathly cold, pale and quite still. They talk and murmur under their breath, of such terrible things. Mithrandir has called it the Black Shadow. He says it was dealt by the Nazgul, the winged shadows."

Even the name brought a shiver to Keren as she realised that this was what the wizard thought was afflicting Faramir. Ioreth went on regardless.

"Their poor right arms, they are the coldest of all, for they stabbed the Lord of the shadows and brought him down. That was that great shriek we heard. I and the warden have been working tirelessly to cure them, but to no avail. I am quite exhausted. Now Mithrandir has gone I can rest for a while. There are still many being brought in from the Pelennor, but old Ioreth can be spared an hour after her hard work these past days."

Keren smiled weakly at her, her thoughts still dwelling on the strange malady. Ioreth said the lady and the perian were cold, but Faramir was burning. Was it simply that the black shadow from the Nazgul had weakened him so that he could not fight the fever from the poison?

"And yourself, girl?" Ioreth looked piercingly at her. "Any rest for you?"

Keren shook her head. "Not yet. I don't want to leave him."

Ioreth sighed. "You will be of no use to him if you cannot stay awake."

But Keren did not reply, and Ioreth did not press her to. She knew the face of one in love, and Keren was too tired to hide it.

 _No good will come of you letting her moon over him, soppy old fool,_ thought Ioreth, but then realised that come the morning the man may no longer be alive. _Ah, but what harm is there in it now? Let the girl love him while he still lives._

She quietly left the room and went to rest. Keren took Faramir's hand once more. The light in the room faded as the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the west. Keren lit a candle and a lamp. With the sunlight went more of Keren's hope. Faramir's temperature had risen again and his breathing was becoming laboured. She made up another cool cloth for his forehead and let him inhale the essences of coriander and mint. She considered the leeches again but did not want to weaken him further. It seemed to her that he was using the last of his strength to fight the rising fever. As soon as she touched the cloth to his head it was almost dry, such was the heat exuding from his body. She felt like whimpering with panic – how she had found herself in this position she knew not, to be his sole carer at a time like this.

 _What if he dies while I am alone with him?_ she thought desperately. _I don't think I could bear it._

In her turmoil she was about to run and fetch the warden when the door opened.

The wizard had returned, but this time Ioreth was not with him.

Instead there was a very tall man, dressed in mail from the battle, with a grey cloak over his shoulders and a shining green stone set in a silver brooch on his breast.

His face was dirtied from fighting and his hair was dark and tangled, but Keren felt the aura of power he gave off. This was not the power that Mithrandir wielded, but more one of a great leader of men.

Peeking from behind him was the perian she had met before. She saw, belatedly, that he was dressed identically to Beregond, in the uniform of the guard. Three more men stood just inside the door. Two she did not recognise, but the one she knew stepped forward.

"Keren," Beregond said. "Come outside for a little while, these great lords must look on Lord Faramir."

Dumbly she stood, skirting past them all awkwardly, and followed him into the corridor.

"Come," he said kindly, "you need some fresh air. I have food. The hobbit is exceptionally skilled in tracking it down. There's water also."

He took her out of the main doors and on to the front steps of the Houses, where they sat next to each other. She fell upon the bread and cheese he had brought her, and gulped down the small jug of cold, fresh water.

"Who were they?" she asked when her plate was clean of all crumbs, her mouth still full in her eagerness for the answer.

"The one with the long yellow hair was King Eomer of Rohan, brother of the Lady Eowyn," he explained. "The older one with the dark hair was Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth."

"Lord Faramir's uncle?" Keren asked.

"The same," Beregond confirmed. He looked as if he wished to say something more, but thought better of it.

"The tall man with the strange stone at his breast…" She left the question unanswered.

"I have just now seen him for the first time, we have shared no words," Beregond said. "Peregrin – the hobbit – called him Strider. From what he said of the man before I believe his real name is Aragorn. But the man himself has just said he is called Elessar, which means Elfstone. It is all very confusing. He seems a grim sort of fellow."

"Did you see the brooch he wore?" Keren asked. "Such a bright green. It was at first all I could see of him."

Beregond looked puzzled. "I saw only a silver eagle with wings outstretched, and a dull green stone within. Prince Imrahil made a strange remark though. When the hobbit called the man 'Strider' he seemed amazed. 'Is it thus we speak to our kings' he said."

Keren now began to understand the conversation between the wizard and Ioreth, strange as all this was.

"If I have all this aright, the wizard seems to think this Strider can heal the ones afflicted with the Black Shadow," Keren explained. "If he is the man they think he is. And I believe they think he is the true King of Gondor."

Beregond was silent as he took in her words.

Keren's sigh filled the now quiet night. She dimly registered in the back of her mind that the silence meant the battle must be over. They must have won, or else they would be dead.

The knowledge meant little now, after all that had happened. The man she loved was dying, and his only hope was the word of old Ioreth, saying that this strange man could somehow heal him.

"I should get back to work," Keren said. "Now they are with him, I am not needed there, I can go back to the wards," she said regretfully.

"I am not sure," Beregond replied. "They will only be with him a matter of moments, to see the extent of his injuries, then Elessar has asked to see the Lady Eowyn and the other hobbit. I think he is assessing which will need his attention first. I also think once they have left the Lord Faramir you would do well to return to him. For your own peace of mind if nothing else."

He gave her a worried look. She knew then that he somehow knew of her feelings. Was she so transparent? That morning Palen was the only one who had any idea, and now she was certain Ioreth, Beregond, a wizard and a hobbit all knew. And she had never even heard of a hobbit before today.

She smiled vaguely and stood to go inside, but then realised she had not once asked her friend how he was faring.

"And you Beregond," she said, her hand on his shoulder. "You are well?"

"I am… well," he replied. "Bergil is safe, despite his stupidity in not going with his mother. My wife and little Borlas, although I do not know where they are, I have to hope are safe away from here. I am alive, for now." He gave a wry smile.

Keren knew he was holding something back, but did not press him.

"I am to remain here in the Houses," he said simply, "although I am not injured. I am to guard Lord Faramir. Speaking of which, they have probably moved on by now. I should go to his side."

"I will come with you," Keren said.

Together they returned to the warden's room. The men had gone. Faramir was still sleeping, his breathing loud and rasping. Keren took her usual place by the side of the bed, and Beregond took up his guard position just inside the door.

"Why do you stand over there?" she asked him.

"I cannot bear to see him suffering," he explained. "He is a great man, a great leader of men. It makes my heart ache to see him laid low."

She looked sadly at him, then turned to Faramir, placing a hand on his head, brushing the hair from his face.

"So many love you," she whispered. "You will leave all bereft. Please do not leave me. You cannot leave me. The prophe - ".

She stopped herself before Beregond heard too much. She had almost forgotten herself, and she cursed herself for her foolishness. This was one secret she could not share with anyone, not even Palen.

Whatever Beregond may or may not have heard was soon forgotten as the men returned. They could hear their heavy footsteps approaching down the corridor and the raised voice of one they guessed to be Elessar.

"…for Faramir, time is running out. All speed is needed. You have store in this House of the herbs of healing?"

Then a pause and a pattering of feminine footsteps.

"Yes lord." Ioreths's voice.

She wittered breathlessly on as she ran alongside them, and Keren was pained to hear she did not fully answer the man's question. As she was finishing her great speech, the group came into the room.

"I will judge that when I see," Elessar said, going straight over to Faramir. Keren could not help but stand in his presence, giving him room beside the bed. "One thing also is short, time for speech."

Keren, in any other circumstance, would have laughed. But the man spoke true.

"Have you _athelas_?" he asked Ioreth.

 _Please answer him swiftly,_ Keren silently begged her. _Please Ioreth._

"I do not know, I am sure, lord," Ioreth began, "at least not by that name. I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows all the old names."

"It is also called _kingsfoil_ ," said Elessar, "and maybe you know it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days."

Keren was shocked. Was this man mad? Kingsfoil was a weed. She looked down an Faramir in desperation.

Minas Tirith was a city of stone, not greenery, with only the gardens of the Houses of Healing within its walls, but stubborn weeds managed to creep into the gaps between the old stone when they had a mind to. Her father she knew was driven mad by their constant desire to grow up through the stone slabs of his yard, and no other plant had such staying power or capacity for growth as kingsfoil. He had culled a great spread of it a fortnight ago, burning most. He always kept a few leaves behind however, to sweeten the smell of the privy. Already it had started to spread again.

Keren in her confusion had missed what was then said. The wizard was halfway through speaking.

"…Shadow-fax shall show her the meaning of haste," he was saying, inexplicably.

Keren looked up from Faramir's face and found herself staring straight into the eyes of the madman who called himself a king.

"Fetch two bowls of hot water," he said to her, "with all speed."

She nodded, blindly submitting to his strange authority, and ran from the room to the kitchens.


	3. Chapter Three - Hope revived

**Author note: Here's chapter three! I don't own Tolkien's world, just my OCs and I'm definitely not making any money out of this haha! If anyone is getting twitchy and wondering when the elf is going to turn up, blink and you'll miss a reference to him in this chapter. And panic not, he makes his grand entrance in chapter four. x**

* * *

 **Chapter three - Hope revived**

The water was taking an age to boil. Keren wondered what was happening as she waited. Was it even now too late? Her mind was in turmoil. What was she even doing? Kingsfoil would not save him. She was following the word of a lunatic. Perhaps he was already dead. His breathing had been so laboured and seemed such a struggle for him, and he had not moved in hours. He could not have long left. She wrung her hands with frustration.

Bergil appeared at the door, skidding to a halt.

"Keren, Ioreth has sent me into the city to look for kingsfoil, but I know not where it grows! There is none fresh that I have seen!" His voice had risen high in panic and he was close to tears. "She says there is none here in the Houses. I don't know what to do! He is going to die! The great Lord Faramir, he is going to die Keren!"

Just as he was in the depths of despair, the answer came to her. She ran over and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Go to the privy in my father's house. Nay, listen to me!" she said and shook his shoulders as he looked at her as if she was mad. "He keeps leaves of it in there from when he culls the yard, to sweeten the smell. Only a few, and they may be dry now, but it is all I can think of."

He was nodding quickly, blindly, clinging to her.

"Don't stand there Bergil, go!"

He went.

When the water was at last ready she burned her hands in her haste to pour it into the bowls. She placed cloths over the hot bowls to protect the now raw skin and set off back to the warden's room. She longed with all her heart to run, but did not want to spill the water.

When she returned to the room, all was quiet and tense. All the great men and Ioreth were stood around the edges of the room. She noticed the new king of Rohan was not there, and she guessed he was instead with his sister. Elessar was kneeling by the bedside, and had a hand upon Faramir's brow. The strange man looked weary, no, ill with fatigue, and the light from the stone he wore seemed fainter than before. His eyes were closed and a light sweat was on his brow. Faramir was as still as death. Elessar opened his eyes and registered Keren's return, but his eyes seemed strangely unfocused. It took him a moment to come to.

"Either side of the bed," he said faintly.

She rushed to do his bidding, placing the bowls down gently on the two chests next to the bed, leaving the sheets over them to retain the heat. She flinched as the burnt skin of her hands pulled away from the thin material. Beregond looked at her with concern but she shook her head at him.

 _Do not worry about me now_ , she thought.

She drew back next to Beregond in the corner of the room. He longed to place an arm around her to comfort her but knew it would not be proper. He looked on her as a daughter, but the men in the room with them did not know that.

Elessar appeared to go into a trance again. He called Faramir's name loudly at first, but then the call became fainter and fainter, until it was little more than a whisper. His head hung low and his hand on Faramir's brow started to shake. This went on for some time, and Keren really could not see the good it was doing. She listened anxiously for Bergil's return.

She was soon rewarded with the sound of his feet slapping on the stone floor of the corridor. He almost dived into the room, flying into the great Prince Imrahil in his haste.

"It is kingsfoil, Sir, but not fresh, I fear," he said to Elessar, who was swiftly brought out of his trance by the exclamation. He looked dazedly at the boy, but as soon as he saw what was in his hand he seemed to come to. Bergil opened the dirty cloth he had been clutching, and within lay six leaves of the weed, almost dried. "It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?"

Then he looked over to the bed and saw the desperate state of Faramir, still and grey. The tears he had been holding back since the start of his errand burst forth and he hid his face in his hand, ashamed to cry in front of all these great lords. Both Beregond and Keren went to run to him, but Elessar, in one swift stride, was there beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

He smiled wearily down at Bergil.

"It will serve," he said. "The worst is now over. Stay and be comforted!"

Keren heaved a sigh of relief. She knew not why, as she still did not trust the word of this man. Bergil handed over the kingsfoil and went to stand with his father, who placed reassuring arms around his sons' shoulders.

Elessar placed the cloth covered leaves on the chest by the bed, took up two of the leaves, breathed on them and crushed them roughly between his hands, with no delicacy or care. Keren frowned, but then immediately lost all care about his methods. A strange feeling filled the room, peaceful yet expectant, excited. She wondered what was happening – Faramir showed no sign of awareness, but all others in the room felt as she did, she was sure.

Elessar dropped the crushed leaves into the two bowls either side of the bed. At once the sweet smell of kingsfoil filled the stuffy room. But it was not the cloying smell that masked the odours of her father's privy that floated across to her. Instead there was a freshness, a lightness in the air, one that filled her heart with joy. She would swear she had felt it before, but could not place the memory.

She could not understand why the smell was so different, or even _how_ it was different. Nor could she begin to understand how this man was controlling the feeling in the room.

The steam from the bowls was carrying the fragrance over Faramir's bed, but he still lay unresponsive. Elessar, a strange look in his eyes, took a deep breath and appeared completely revived. He picked up one of the bowls.

Slowly he brought it to Faramir's face, so the steam from the water she had brought, fragranced by the old kingsfoil from her father's house, was gently inhaled by the man she loved.

Keren was filled with the tender realisation of just how deeply she was involved in Faramir's fate.

"Well now!" Ioreth's whisper in her ear ruined the moment. "The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imloth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better."

Keren ignored her, lost in her own musings. Everyone in the room seemed to be recalling a fond memory, but Keren's remained strangely elusive. All she could focus on was Faramir.

Was it her hopeful imagination, or was his breathing easing?

Suddenly he stirred. Keren's breath hitched in her throat, heedless of the great lords surrounding her, nothing else mattering but the man in the bed. She was on a knife edge.

He opened his eyes.

All were silent, all staring in amazement at what they had just witnessed. Many had tears in their eyes. For Bergil and Keren they were flowing freely.

A quiet voice filled the silence. Faramir's voice. And what he said was most wondrous to all who heard.

"My lord, you called me. I come," he said as he looked up at Elessar. "What does the king command?"

Elessar's voice in reply was kind but stern, giving a command to the man who lay below him.

"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake! You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."

"I will, lord," Faramir replied. "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"

Keren could hardly believe what she was seeing and hearing. She had sat with Faramir all day and he had not stirred, had seemed insensible to all. She knew she had been watching him die. And yet now here he was conversing, coherent, understanding, calm.

"Farewell then for a while!" said Elessar. "I must go to others who need me."

The tall man stood and with no more words and no glance at anyone, left the room. Imrahil and Mithrandir followed in his wake, the hobbit running after.

All who were left seemed to heave a collective sigh. Beregond hugged Bergil to him. Ioreth sank down on a stool, exclaiming as she did.

"King!" she said. "Did you hear that? What did I say? The hands of a healer, I said."

Keren did not reply, nor heard if anyone else did, for all of her attention was given to Faramir. He lay still, but it was now the stillness of rest rather than death. His eyes had closed once more, but she had no fears that he would fall into shadow again. After what she had witnessed she believed, truly believed, that this strange Elessar was her king. She had witnessed magic. As if in a daze she walked over to the bed, and as she had been doing all day, took Faramir's hand.

Ioreth and Beregond looked at each other over the top of Bergil's head.

"I am supposed to be guarding the door," Beregond provided as an excuse.

Ioreth nodded.

"I will go to the warden and see if I can assist with the perian in his care. Keren."

She waited for a response, but did not even get a look.

" _Keren_ ," she said, louder, which made Keren turn. "Attend me child, this is important. You will stay with him. Yes, that is my decision, before I change my mind. I am going to go to the warden and find out how things are progressing with the lady and the perian, and to see if I can assist. Until the warden returns to this chamber the lord Faramir is in your care once more, do you understand?"

Keren nodded dumbly.

With that Ioreth rose and left the room. She hid a smile as she turned away from the girl and her lord. She knew it was fruitless, and in one of her less foolish moments, realised that perhaps she was creating more harm than good, but the girl deserved some happiness, even if brief.

Beregond looked fondly at Keren.

"I will be just outside if you or he need anything," he said. "Come Bergil. Bed for you I think."

"Good night Keren." Bergil smiled wanly at her before leaving with his father.

Keren wondered why Beregond was now tied to the Houses when he should have been guarding the citadel, but the thought flew from her mind as Faramir began to stir again at the sound of the door closing.

His eyes opened, looking to the door, then his gaze fell upon her.

 _Grey_. _His eyes are grey, as I knew they would be_.

She had never been close enough to him to see this before.

And now suddenly she was afraid. She remembered what had transpired by the gates and was embarrassed. She had been so desperate for him to see her, to say goodbye, that she was certain she had made a fool of herself. Perhaps he would not remember?

And yet she had to have obeyed the prophecy. It sounded ridiculous, but at the thought of never seeing him again, she had been desperate.

 _He will know you to be his when you don the green of the forest._

Long had those words haunted her, amongst the others.

It had been her mother's gown, and it was the perfect shade of forest green. She had no memory of her mother ever wearing it, and she knew not where or when it had been made, but it far surpassed anything women of her status would normally wear. Too short in the leg for Palen, it had passed to her when their mother died. It was the only rich clothing she owned and the coincidence could not be ignored.

It seemed to have worked, as he had acknowledged her as he rode past, and the happiness she had felt at that moment, mingled with deep grief at his leaving, she thought would be impossible to surpass – her emotions still had not settled from it. But she had not accounted for this moment of his awakening. She could feel her happiness, not just as an emotion, but as a tangible, physical thing. It radiated from her. She smiled at him.

* * *

Faramir opened his eyes. A girl was looking at him, and he immediately recognised her. She was not wearing that wonderful green gown, but instead a faded dark blue kirtle over a simple white shift, of which she had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Her dark hair was mostly covered with a white scarf. This was the girl who had wept, who had stared after him, heart broken, as he had ridden away. How strange that, after his King, this was the next face he saw after the darkness. She smiled at him.

He would have smiled back, but he was too confused. How came she to be here?

"You," he said simply. "Who are you?"

* * *

Keren took a deep breath and spoke to him for the first time in her life.

"Do you feel any pain, my lord Faramir?"

"You will answer my question before I answer yours," he replied quickly.

"First you must tell me if you feel pain. It is my task to look after you." She fought to keep her voice from trembling.

"No, I feel no pain," he said. "Which I wonder at."

She nodded, satisfied.

"My name then is Keren, daughter of Maleron. I am a healer here." She said no more.

"And you know my name?" he asked.

"You heard me call you Faramir, my lord," she replied.

"I did," he said. "I feel no pain. Why is that? How bad is it?" He tried desperately hard not to show the fear in his voice.

"You must trust to hope, Faramir. My lord," she corrected herself. "You have come through such darkness, but now all is well."

He nodded, which he thought should have caused him pain, but did not.

"I do not understand why there is no pain," he frowned.

"Let us just be thankful there is none," she said with a smile. If she was worried too, she did not show it.

"Do you remember anything of what happened? After you left?" she went on. Now she looked nervous.

He thought hard.

"I remember the day we left, the procession, the gates." He looked at her steadily, looking for some recognition from her. "And the ride to Osgiliath. But after that, nothing."

"Then you must not concern yourself with trying to remember. I am sorry I asked, it has troubled you." She put her hand on his shoulder. It was small and gentle. "You must put all your efforts into being well again."

Her worried expression pulled at his heart. The feelings that had surprised him with their intensity on the day he left began to come back to him, the feeling of hope. He did not know this girl, knew nothing more about her than before, except her name, and yet she still had that affect over him. Nothing had changed.

"You must answer my next few questions," he said seriously. Something in his face made her start. She looked almost afraid.

"I shall do my best, my lord." Her voice had gone quiet again, and she quickly removed her hand from his shoulder. "What is it you wish to know?"

"I need to know if it was you that I saw in the crowd, who was so distressed when I left. It is very important that you answer me honestly."

She gave a minute nod.

"That was me, my lord." He could barely hear her.

"As I thought." He went to take her hand, but changed his mind at the last second. "Why did you weep for me?"

There was another pause before she answered.

"I do not like to see any man go to his death," she said eventually.

"You were not crying for just any man. Why did you weep? Why do I see tears in your eyes now?"

She quickly brushed at her eyes, as if they had betrayed her. She looked as if she was fighting with all her will not to answer, but eventually gave in, as the tears started to fall.

"Because I have loved you since I was a child," was all she said. Then, so quickly it startled him, she had gone from his bedside.

"Go to him Beregond," he heard her say as she ran out of the room. "I can't stay."

He lay his head back on the pillow, totally confused, and quickly fell back into a healing sleep before he had even registered Beregond's presence next to him.

When he awoke from deep slumber it was morning and there was another woman by his bedside. An old woman, with a round face, who had nodded off. He did not recognise her.

"Woman," he said, loud enough to wake her. She grunted, and her eyes fluttered open. "Where is the girl that was here before? That was tending to me?"

"She was taken ill, my lord," the woman said sleepily. "You are in my care now." She gave a worried smile.

"Your pardon, dame," he said," but I wish for the girl. She was well enough when she ran from me."

"She ran because she was ill, lord."

"Distressed, maybe. Ill, no. Send for her."

"She will not come, my lord."

"She will not obey the son of Denethor, steward of Gondor?"

The woman seemed troubled, as if some great internal struggle was occurring inside her head.

"It seems not," she said eventually, frowning.

"Does she have good reason?" He felt something. Pain, a pain in his chest. He realised he had raised himself up onto his arm.

"Calm yourself, my lord." She patted his shoulder fretfully. "She gave no reason, only that she felt too ill to work today. She has been sent to her room to rest. No doubt she will be here tomorrow."

That comforted him a little, although he was still angry with her for confusing him, for her running from him. Was that the effect he had had on her?

"Rest, my lord, you must lie back." She pushed him as forcefully as she dared back onto the pillow. "Sleep, sir."

"How is the wound to my chest?" he asked, wondering at the pain he had suddenly, finally, felt.

"It is almost healed, my lord," she smiled. "All you need do now is rest. You will soon be well, I am sure."

"I cannot be truly rested until I have seen her again," he said as he closed his eyes. "You tell her that. Then see if she will still remain hidden away."

The woman frowned, puzzled, but he was already asleep, and did not see. What had the troublesome girl said to him, to aggravate him thus? She was determined to find out, sooner rather than later.

* * *

"Keren!" Her sister was calling her, her voice too loud. Keren wished to hear no voice for a long time. "Keren! Lord Faramir is asking for you!"

"I cannot go to him!" she called back.

"Are you ill?" Palen was approaching down the narrow corridor.

"Yes," Keren said shortly. "Leave me alone, please."

The door flew open. Her sister's measured gaze took in her appearance, sitting dolefully on her bed, her eyes red with weeping. She knew she did not look ill, just sad and anxious. One look from Palen told her she did not believe her.

"Oh, Pal, I can't go to him! I can't bear it!" She put her head in her hands.

"Has he upset you? Hurt you?" Her sister's arms went around her.

"No, of course not!"

"Then what is it? You are not still pining for him?" She looked almost despairing.

"I wish you would not call it that. I love him, Pal, I cannot help it."

"But you do not know him!" She was half amused, half exasperated at her younger sister's foolishness. "It is quite hopeless; you must know that. Especially after you humiliated yourself on the day he rode out. What must he have thought of you? That you were mad no doubt."

"But when he looked at me then, he looked…" she tried to make her sister understand, "I don't know… Happy. Like I had done something to make him happy."

"I doubt you made him happy by staring up at him with your lip wobbling like some greensick child." Palen frowned. "He thought he was riding to his death, and the last thing he saw was you weeping like a fool. I can't imagine it filled him with much confidence."

"Don't talk so, Pal."

"Well anyway, he is asking for you." Palen allowed herself a smile for her little sister. "The arrow wound in his chest is healing well, the bleeding has stopped completely. But he said – and I have this from Dawyn, who sits at his bedside in your place – he said that he cannot be truly rested until he has seen you again. Make of that what you will."

Keren was silent, trying to think what those words could mean, not allowing herself to hope.

"What have you been saying to him, Keren, for him to ask for you like that?" Palen wondered. "Have you made a fool of yourself again?"

"I only answered his questions," Keren said quietly.

"What did he ask you?" Palen, older than Keren by five years, was starting to worry that her little sister was making a nuisance of herself.

"Lots of things. He remembered me, Pal. He asked me if I was the girl that had wept for him, and I said yes. Whether that was foolish or not, I don't know. I was only being honest. But then he asked me why I was weeping."

"And what did you say?" Palen asked, dreading the answer.

"I could not lie to him. I told him," Keren said miserably.

"Told him what, Keren?"

Her sister stayed silent.

"Told him _what_?" Palen asked again, wanting to grip Keren's shoulders in frustration.

Reluctantly Keren met her sister's burning gaze.

"That I loved him."

Palen's mouth dropped open. Keren would have found it funny at any other time.

"You _what_?"

"I told him that I'd loved him since I was a child, which is the truth. Then I ran away. And now I can't go back."

"Indeed you cannot," Palen said severely. "Oh, Keren, what have you done?"

Part of her wanted to laugh at the stubborn honesty of her little sister, but Keren had just thrown away any chance she had of a good marriage like her own.

"Don't talk to me like that. I am twenty, I am not a child." Keren frowned at her.

"You are acting like a child over him," Palen frowned. "He is the _steward of Gondor_ , Keren. And if that is not enough, he did not even know you existed until a few days ago."

"He does now which is all that matters," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, and he sees you are a _healer_. There is no hope for you."

Keren was silent for a while, before speaking more to herself than to her sister.

"There was no hope that he would return. But he did."

Palen sighed heavily.

"Either way, you need to get back to work," she said. "We are all exhausted, not one of us has stopped. Today is the first day we've been able to take some rest, but we cannot shirk on our duties. There are still many men who lie injured. Keren, you should be no exception."

"When was the last time you ate or slept Palen?" Keren asked bitterly.

"I – I can't remember," she admitted. "And I am sure you can't either. But just one more day Keren. That is all, and then we can sleep."

Keren nodded.

"I tried to sleep," she whispered. "When I ran from him. I lay down here and tried to sleep, but I could not. My heart is with him. Oh, I should be with him now. I have ruined everything."

"Hush," Palen said, her arms going round her little sister. "Go to him then."

"It is not as easy as that," Keren said, her words muffled as she leant against Palen's shoulder. "You do not understand."

"What do I not understand?" Palen's voice was gentle in her ear.

"I can't tell you," she said sadly.

"As ever," Palen said with a sigh. "Well, I am going back to work, and I think you should come too." She stood and held out her hand. Keren, defeated, took it and allowed her weary feet to trudge back to the wards.

The day passed, and Keren got to see the strange figure that was the lady Eowyn of Rohan. Elessar had performed his healing magic on her, and she was sleeping peacefully, but Keren understood from the warden that her physical injury was far greater than Faramir's. The warden had had instruction from Elessar not to allow her to rise for ten whole days.

"Poor lady," she said, as she stood next to her bed.

"Aye," said Ioreth, who had been overseeing her care. "And yet she is a strange one. I was there when she awoke, and unlike Lord Faramir she did not seem to feel any hope at her revival. I think her life has been a trial to her."

Keren looked down on the lady. She was fair. Her face was beautiful and her long hair was like spun silk around her shoulders. But there were great shadows under her eyes, and her arms had strange black marks all over. The left arm was bandaged and set with a splint. Her right arm appeared strangely withered, although it was whole. It was as if the light did not shine upon it.

Rather than return to Faramir and face his stern gaze, she left him in the warden's care, as befitted his station anyway, and instead alternated the care of Eowyn with Ioreth, leaving occasionally to do a patrol of the wards.

Her sister had the care of Meriadoc, the other halfling, whom Keren was yet to meet. Palen, in their brief walk down the corridor that morning, had told her all she knew of the strange little fellow, although that was not much. By all accounts, small as he was, it was he who had injured the great lord of shadows, enough so that Eowyn then had the opportunity to slay him.

The perian appeared incredibly resilient. By the late morning he was already up and about with the other halfling and receiving two visitors in the gardens.

No one knew who these visitors were, as Prince Imrahil's servant bore them to the gardens directly.

 _Who could possibly be visiting them?_ Keren wondered. _No doubt more strange folk._

She did not dwell on the mystery but instead focussed on her charges.

By this time all the healers were struggling. Keren was ready to faint with weariness. Her lips felt numb, her fingers and toes were cold and sometimes tingling. Her head swam if she moved too quickly, and her stomach was telling her, painfully, that it was empty and had been for some time. She felt sick.

 _Just a few more hours, a few more hours,_ she thought as the sun began to set.

The warden had promised them all alternate rest periods of twelve hours. They just needed to get through the rest of this day. Deaths amongst the injured men were now infrequent, but the beds were still emptying, as men were recovering and leaving the houses. The more grievously wounded would be there for days more yet, but casualties were no longer streaming in, and there had not been many new cases. The Houses were becoming a place of calm once more. Keren did not stop to think why there were now so few for them to heal – she did not know it was as so many thousands had perished in the Pelennor fields.


	4. Chapter Four - Keren's prophecy

**Author note: Only the OCs and their storylines are mine. There will be a little break before I update again. Chapter five and a bit of six have been written :) Just thought I'd get these first four out quickly as they've been hanging around for months before I had the guts to publish. I can see that I've had almost 70 views on my first few chapters already in just a few hours which is unbelievable! I'm so grateful you've all given this story your time. I would love it if some of you who've enjoyed it, or think I could work on something, would leave a review, or even (if you feel like it) click that cheeky little follow/fave button! As an encouragement (bribery?) now it's time for... that elf. If Keren even notices him, being as besotted with Faramir as she is. Although she should be, he's a literary dish! See you in a few days x**

* * *

 **Chapter four - Keren's prophecy**

* * *

The Lady Eowyn was awake to watch the sun set through her window from her bed. Keren entered the room to see her looking grave.

"How are you faring my lady?" she asked. "Do you feel well rested now?"

The lady turned her sad gaze on Keren, and she was shocked to see that Ioreth was indeed right, and her eyes were empty of hope and peace.

"I am rested," Eowyn said, turning her face once more to the sun. Her voice was low and sad. "I thank you for the care you have shown me."

She was so serious, so solemn. Keren wondered if she had ever once smiled in her life, for she could not picture such an expression on her face.

"'Tis my duty my lady, but also a pleasure," Keren said. "It brings me great joy when I see my work is helping others to be well."

Eowyn did not reply.

"I will bring you some food," Keren offered. "It will do you much good to eat now you are awake."

Eowyn nodded once. Keren quietly retreated from the room.

 _If that is what all ladies from Rohan are like, life must be very dull there,_ thought Keren. _She is so sad._ _I do not think I can cure her of that._

Once Keren had prepared the lady a light evening meal, the sun was truly set. Her work was finally over and she rejoiced in the promise of a proper meal, then rest.

She started off for the kitchens, but before she knew what she was doing, her feet were taking her to the warden's room and to Faramir.

Beregond was still stationed outside, but did not comment on her appearance. Instead he pointed into the room, then put a finger to his lips.

 _He's telling him about his father_ , Beregond mouthed to her.

She looked sadly into the room, remembering how hard it was for her when her mother died. The warden was there, talking in a low voice to Faramir, looking haggard and ill. Faramir's face was drawn. She stood awkwardly at the threshold, wishing she had not come.

"Keren?" The warden noticed her. "Is it not your rest time now? Go to bed child."

Keren found her mouth was dry and she could not speak. Faramir was looking at her intently. She swallowed and willed herself to say something.

"I thought I would check once more on the lord Faramir, as he was originally in my care," she said. "And now I see he is better, so I will go."

She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Faramir's voice called her back. "I – I have not thanked you. I have been told you sat with me and watched over me for all my time here, until I awoke. I thank thee Keren, daughter of Maleron, for demonstrating the love you have for me."

Keren blanched, eyes flying to the warden's face.

"It is a love we all feel for thee," Keren whispered, mortified.

"Aye, lord." The warden agreed, appearing to hear nothing untoward in Faramir's comment. "The whole city holds you in great renown. Glad we all are to see you returning to health. Would you not agree Keren?"

Keren smiled weakly at Faramir, whose eyes, she felt, were boring into hers.

"It fills my heart with joy, my lord," she said. "And now I will bid you goodnight."

"Will you come to me in the morning, once you are rested?" he asked. "I would rather have the care of the one who sat faithfully by my side through my darkest hours."

She looked awkwardly at the warden. She could not refuse, she knew, and neither could he ignore the will of his lord. He gave a small nod in agreement.

"Yes my lord," she said, "I will be here in the morning."

"Then goodnight for now," he replied. "Rest well."

"Good night, my lord. Good night, sir," she added to the warden, and left.

She went then to the kitchens to collect some food. Once in the refectory she mechanically ate a hearty meal of hot stew and warm bread. She did not touch the cheap wine that had been provided, as she knew just a few sips would make her head swim, tired as she was. The other few healers who were sharing these rest hours with her were as silent as she, all with their own thoughts and not having the energy for much conversation.

After she had had her fill of food and water she walked not to her room but to the gardens. Even though it was now full dark, she needed fresh air in her lungs and a clear head before she would be able to sleep, she knew. The past few days' events would be swirling around in her head if she lay down to sleep now. She had twelve hours given to her. Ten of those she was hoping to give to sleep, one she had just spent in the refectory, but one she wanted to give to solitude, reflection and peace.

 _And, I hope, a warm bath_ , she thought dreamily.

The gardens were deserted, the halflings and their visitors obviously long gone. She walked slowly over to the wall where she had stood – oh, it felt a year ago now, but was only a matter of days – when she had seen the Pelennor crowded with the enemy ready to attack. Now the fields lay barren, except for the poor folk sent out to collect and bury the bodies of both friends and foe. She was thankful that it was too gloomy and she too high up to see just how many bodies there were.

She raised her eyes to the sky, and saw a few stars shining through the gaps in the clouds. The moon was large and full, casting an eerie glow on all around her. It was better than the total blackness she had encountered the last time she had stood there.

She placed her small hands on the cold stone of the wall and took a deep breath in and out, imagining the stone absorbing all her troubles as she exhaled. Then she took off her white healer's scarf and let her hair down from the pins that had held it in place. It fell dark and untidy down past her shoulders. She immediately relaxed a little, feeling more herself, and far more comfortable.

The view from where she stood, however, was frightening and did little to ease her mind. The mountains of the black land formed a dark ridge of malice in the east. There were strange fires, thunder and lightning crashing above them, as if behind them in the black land there brewed a great storm just waiting to be unleashed on the world. Keren knew that although the battle for Minas Tirith was won, the battle against the dark lord of Mordor was yet to come, and that would be a far more terrible ordeal for the world.

Everyone else was staying inside, those fortunate enough to be having their respite sensibly attempting to sleep. She wondered what she was doing out there, why she had chosen to stand at that spot. But it felt right, to look the enemy almost in the face, to see what doom was coming. The fires of Mordor seemed to stretch towards her, casting strange shadows, even in the gardens themselves. She wondered what she must look like, standing staring morbidly out at the desolation. She thought she must look very strange, like something out of a legend from the past. But then she chuckled to herself. No, she was just plain, ordinary Keren.

 _Now the lady Eowyn, she looks more than ordinary somehow_ , she thought.

Whether it was the lady's royal blood, or something deeper inside, a strange fire was in and around her, almost like wrath, despite her external coldness. She was beautiful though, Keren admitted, even in her illness – perfectly in proportion, tall and slender, with shining yellow hair falling to her waist. She had a long, noble face which held a strange, sad beauty. With her fey and distant manner, Keren thought the lady looked like a she-elf.

Not that she had ever seen an elf, but she had read many tales of them over the years. Her mother had also told her many stories – her favourites were of Lord Glorfindel the balrog slayer, and of the half-elven Lord Elrond and his sons, who were still alive somewhere way beyond the mountains in the north. Such stories had filled her head for as long as she could remember and they had become an important part of who she was. She longed to see an elf, just to know if they really were as beautiful and powerful as the stories said.

Keren smiled wryly to herself. She was nothing like the fair lady of Rohan, being small and dark, and definitely not elf-like. Her brown hair – mud-coloured it had been called in the past – was long but impossible to control, and her face she knew was attractive only when viewed from the correct angle. She was slightly vain of her small waist and rounded hips, but felt her breasts were sadly lacking. Palen had once caught her stuffing spare bandages down her bodice. She cringed at the memory, then checked herself for thinking of such trivial things when she could be reliving the conversation that had just passed.

She had just come from Faramir's bedside. He had asked her to go to him in the morning. He had wished her goodnight. His words seemed to hover around her in a happy, golden haze.

She realized she was tired of being alone. Palen had married last year – her husband was a young soldier named Dannor. Palen lived with him in the fourth level of the city when they were not on duty, leaving Keren alone in their room within the Houses, which she chose to stay in during her days off rather than return to her father's small house to sleep.

Her father, although he had not remarried after her mother's passing, was content and busy with his work and therefore had little time for his daughters.

Keren was kept busy with her own work at the Houses, but in quiet moments like this missed her mother and the times that were gone.

But now Faramir, against all the odds, had returned to her. Had he recognised the words of the prophecy? Would he now look at her with love?

Her life would change if he did. With the Lord Denethor and his eldest son dead, she would be the love – perhaps even the wife? – of the new steward of Gondor.

 _Except maybe I won't_ , she suddenly realised.

Elessar.

If he truly were the new King of Gondor, then the stewards' role would become obsolete. They would no longer be needed and Faramir would be… what? Suddenly nothing?

Not that it mattered – it was not greatness she desired, it was just him.

But then the prophecy, would that still hold to be true if this Elessar became King?

 _It never said anything about Faramir being the ruler of an ancient realm,_ she thought, _just that he was the son of one. Which would make sense, I suppose._

Keren knew that Palen despaired at her infatuation, always trying to convince her to do as she had done and wed a man within their station, one with whom she would be comfortable.

But Keren had known for a long time that Faramir would one day be hers, and that their love for each other would be a force to be reckoned with.

It was the crystal that had told her.

Her mother would never say where she had got it from, and spoke very little of it while she was alive. When she died she gave it to Keren. Palen and her father did not even know of its existence.

All her mother had told her was that it was given to her by a great friend, one who lived far away. Keren had no memories of such a person.

Her mother had said that if at any time she felt as if she did not know where life was taking her, she was to hold the crystal tightly in her palm and ask for guidance, then she was to hold it up to her heart and she would know the direction to take.

It had all sounded very silly to Keren, and she had wondered if her mother's mind had started wandering as she drew closer to death.

But then, when just one week later her mother died, Keren had sat alone in her room – she had not had to share with Palen in those days – and felt completely lost. She was only eleven years old, her mother was not supposed to have left her yet. She was not old enough to work for a living, nor was she ready for a marriage so that a husband could support her. She did not want to burden her father when he had his own grief to live through.

Without thinking she had reached for the crystal. It was a very pale white, almost clear, and had no imperfections that she could see. It was very smooth. She had pulled her legs into her chest, hugging herself tightly, and clenched the crystal in her hand.

 _What do I do now? What will become of me now? I want my mother, I want my mother!_ she had said aloud, desperately.

Tears streaming down her face she then clutched the crystal to her chest, feeling her heart beating hard against her clenched fist.

To her amazement she heard a voice, but she could not say she heard it with her ears, rather it came from inside her. She would never be able to describe the voice – it was not male or female, it was not loud or soft, it was not high or low. It simply was, and it felt a part of her.

 _Do not be troubled, little one,_ it had said. _You are young, and you have much to accomplish. Grieve for your mother, yes, for hers is a kind soul that will be missed, but do not let her death rule your life. You are destined for great joy, for happy times after your fair share of sadness. One will be brought to you who will change everything. His love for you will be so great that you will not be able to comprehend it. Your love for him will overcome all. He is of noble blood, with a kind and brave soul. All who know him learn to love him. He is the son of one who sits in a great hall, the ruler of an ancient realm. You will know him to be your love when you see him stood under the white tree. He will know you to be his when you don the green of the forest. Go to the healers and they will put you on the path to him. His soul is waiting for yours. Go to the healers!_

When the voice stopped, it's final command resonating loudly, she removed her hand from her heart and gazed at the crystal in her palm. It was a light pink. She was sure it had been white before. Dazed, she placed it under her pillow and slept.

She had dreamt of grey eyes, which now, nine years later, she had seen in truth when Faramir gazed upon her at his bedside.

Keren still remembered every word of the passage that she had secretly come to call her 'prophecy', which she knew was a far grander word than should ever be associated with her.

She also remembered the disbelief and joy she had felt when, the day after her dream, she had arisen and gone to the Houses of Healing begging for a position there. The warden had refused initially, saying she was too young, but Palen, suddenly pushed into a maternal position, had taken responsibility for her. At sixteen Palen was more than ready for employment, and offered her services to the healers, on the condition that they also took Keren. She explained that their mother had just died, that they both had some skill in healing after caring for her on her sick bed for over six months, and that their father would struggle to support them both. The warden took pity on the two girls and gave them the opportunity to prove that Palen spoke true.

Palen had not known why Keren was so desperate to become a healer, and to this day she had never asked, but she had been pleased that her little sister would be occupied after their mother's death. It gave herself something to focus on too.

So the two sisters had moved into the Houses of Healing and began their new lives there. Now, at twenty and twenty-five, their healing skills were well practised and well respected.

Keren remembered fondly exactly how joining the healers had led her, as promised, to Faramir, when she was still a child. After a few months of basic work, the warden had taken her and Palen up to the seventh level of the city.

"When it comes to the steward and other nobles, quite often we will go to them rather than them come to the Houses, so it is important to know your way around the citadel," he had said. "For your first couple of years you will not be permitted up here without myself or Ioreth accompanying you. When you have proved your worth as healers then we shall see."

He had introduced them to Beregond, who had taken great delight in pointing out the White Tower of Ecthelion, the Merethrond, and the sad old House of the King, never used. He brought them to the Place of the Fountain and explained the history of the white tree which stood there, now sadly dead and bare.

Keren had liked Beregond on sight. His easy rapport with the warden, and his patience with her and Palen as they had asked many childish questions, was endearing to her who had just lost a parent.

As they were standing on the steps of the Merethrond, and Beregond was describing the interior of the White Tower to them, there came the sound of clashing swords and shouts from beside the fountain. They turned and saw two men engaged in a fight. Keren gasped, but Beregond explained what was happening.

"Have no fear girls," he chuckled. "They are only sparring. They have need to practise, for no doubt their father will send them off to fight again soon."

"Why would their father want them to fight?" she had asked.

"Because they have a very important job to do," he said. "They are the two sons of the steward. The elder, with the beard, is Lord Boromir – he is a great warrior. The younger is the Lord Faramir. He has a gentler soul than his brother, but he is still brave and strong. He is also clever and kind. I fear his father does not see that side to him however."

"You speak as if you know them well," said Palen.

"Well enough," Beregond replied. "Both inspire me, but I admit it is Faramir that I am fondest of. Both are good men, but he has time for all, even us lowly guards."

"He sounds nice," said Keren.

Beregond smiled at the young girl calling the second in line to the stewardship of Gondor 'nice'.

"Both are skilled swordsmen," Beregond pointed out. "It is good to watch them – I often learn from them."

The two brothers practised for some minutes more. The warden allowed the girls to stay and watch, out of the way, with Beregond.

The younger man appeared to concede to the elder, and laughing, shook his head, flopping down on a stone bench next to the White Tree. He was breathing heavily with exertion.

"And that is why you are father's favourite," his clear voice carried over to them.

It was a nice voice, Keren thought, full of humour and patience.

The elder, Boromir, smiled but did not answer, playfully pushing the other with a fist to the shoulder. He walked away, removing his helmet. He passed close by and gave a nod to Beregond, but did not spare a glance to the girls.

The younger man remained sat by the tree.

"Come girls," the warden said. "We should return. You have seen more than enough. I am starting to question the appropriateness of allowing you to witness two grown men fight. Best leave before I scrutinise my judgement further."

He smiled with a twinkle in his eye and bid them follow. They gave a farewell and thanks to Beregond.

Keren had taken a few steps before something made her turn round to look at the young lord again. She stopped in her tracks and stared. He was standing beneath the boughs of the old tree.

 _You will know him to be your love when you see him stood…_

"…under the white tree!" Keren had whispered to herself, the words fresh in her mind.

 _The White Tree of Gondor. Of course!_

She studied the man, unnoticed by him. His body was lithe and he was tall, taller than his older brother. He had removed his helmet. She firstly saw shining dark, almost raven hair, gently curling and blowing in the breeze. Then an aquiline nose and a slightly pointed chin. It was indeed a strong and handsome face, and if she had not been told who he was she would have guessed he was of noble blood. He was older than she had first thought, based on his movements – certainly in his twenties. Standing beneath the white trees' boughs, he placed a hand on its withered trunk. He looked up into its bare branches and closed his eyes, seeming to sigh deeply. He looked sad. Perhaps he was not so happy about losing the fight after all. What was it Beregond had said?

 _I fear his father does not see that side to him._

Was all that mattered to Lord Denethor strength in arms then? Did Faramir feel second best to his brother? Keren felt sorry for him if so. She and Palen, despite the five-year difference in their ages, had always been treated as equals.

 _But then_ , she thought, _I suppose we are not the steward's heirs._

"Keren, come on!" Palen's voice cut through her thoughts.

She reluctantly turned away from him, sad that he had not looked her way, but as she walked back down to the Houses of Healing she knew she had found her future in the second son of the Steward of Gondor.

Keren smiled at the memory.

She was just a child then, and she had first looked on Faramir with a child's eyes and mind. She saw him as her saviour, as her future, but gave little thought to how that would come about. She did not then know what love meant between a man and a woman. It was only as she grew to womanhood that she appreciated him as a man. Sometimes her sightings of him could be years apart. When she had seen him next, patrolling through the city streets, an unexpected ripple of lust had gone through her fourteen-year-old veins at the thought that this powerful man would be hers. She had never experienced a feeling like that before, and found she could not stop thinking about him. From then on every time she saw him the feeling grew more intense, and made her impatient for their meeting to take place.

And now it had finally happened.

He had changed little over the years. Faramir at six and thirty was very similar to Faramir at seven and twenty, as she had later learnt his age to be when she had first seen him.

Tall and dark, he could sometimes look very stern, but sometimes a broad grin would light his features and he would laugh merrily. He was slightly broader than he had been that day in the Place of the Fountain, his muscles more developed as he grew stronger with increased fighting, but he would always be slim. He did not look close to his age, she thought, seeming more a man in his mid-twenties still. But that was, according to legend, common amongst the high nobles of Gondor, who had been blessed with long lives, being descended from the men of Númenor.

Keren, of course, had changed greatly. She was now a woman, and dreamt of him as nothing more than her lover.

Now everything had led her to this pass. She had donned the green dress as she had been instructed, and now their paths truly were intertwined. She was to see him again in the morning.

Her hand went to her pocket and felt the crystals' reassuring weight there. She had placed it there that morning before Palen came to find her. Just beforehand she had asked if she was on the right path, so embarrassed was she about running from him.

 _Have faith_ , she had been told in that strange voice, the first time she had heard it since discovering it as a child. _You have not long to wait now._

Keren smiled, knowing that when the new day dawned she would be spending it with him. Not long to wait indeed.

* * *

The elf, finding solace in these, the only gardens in the city, sat unseen in the shadows watching the young human.

Merry, Pippin and Gimli had long since retired, but he felt at peace there, with grass under his feet, and trees around him, so he had decided to stay and watch the moon rise. It was the closest thing he could find to a forest in this city of stone.

He had been sitting alone under a willow tree, leaning against the trunk, one long leg stretched along the ground, the other bent up with his forearm resting on his knee. He had kicked off his boots to feel the grass under his bare feet, and had been thinking of where else he would put gardens in the city, when he heard the light tread of a woman disturb his dreaming.

She walked over to the walls, placed her hands on the old, cold stone, and sighed to herself. He watched as she let down her hair.

Something about her interested him, which surprised him, as he had never shown much interest in humans before, apart from his great friend Aragorn. And then he realised – he was being drawn to her fëa. The way it seemed to waver in his mind, beckoning to him, told him that she was an elf friend. This was hard for him to believe, as how could one so young have done anything renowned for his people to recognise her as such? Such an honour was only given to ones who show great bravery, or generosity towards the elven folk. Surely there was some mistake?

Stranger still, there was also a faint warmth to her fëa that indicated she was close to crystals, but how close he could not tell.

She was very young, even for a human, so her experience of them would naturally be limited. She looked ordinary, not the kind to go searching for power and guidance from crystals.

She was not unlike a hobbit in form he decided, although he had never seen a female one. On the smaller side of what was average height for a human female – he imagined she would only come up to his chest – and light on her feet like a dancer with an expressive face and big brown eyes. Her hair when it fell down from beneath her hood was dark and untidy, just reaching down to her breasts.

The strange changing light from the moon and from Mordor gave her an eerie appearance, one moment a dark beauty shrouded in flame, but the next, when she turned her head to face the rising moon, a human girl once more, with all the frailties of human weakness written on her face.

It appeared she had noticed this herself, as she gave a wry smile and, he could just hear from where he sat, a small huff of amusement.

He smiled at being able to read her emotions so easily. She would not be good at telling falsehoods.

He wanted to ask her how one so ordinary had come to befriend the elves and, through that meeting he imagined, discovered crystals, but he decided that she would perhaps rather be left alone with her thoughts at this time of darkness.

Looking out over the land of shadow, there were more important things on his own mind.

Earlier, when he had stood where the girl was standing now, he had seen the gulls, swooping and calling, low over the Anduin. He had been reminded of the Lady Galadriel's words, delivered to him by Gandalf, and of hearing the fated cry of the gulls at Pelargir. Gimli and Merry had chided him for wanting to sail away from these shores, but now he knew more than ever that that was his fate. The Valar had reminded him, not too gently, that he was being called home. It was not necessarily going to happen soon, but one day he knew the trees would not fill his heart with joy any longer, and the call of the sea would be too strong. What would there be left for him on Middle Earth? All his kin were leaving, his friends would be dead, the world would be changed.

A low rumbling began in the black land, taking him from one set of morbid thoughts to another. He watched the girl cling onto the shaking wall of the city as a storm gathered over the mountains.

* * *

Keren felt like crying out in terror, but she mastered herself, feeling the shaking grow less and less as the rumbling ceased. Looking out over to Mordor and feeling the evil that emanated from there, she was reminded that they could all be dead, or enslaved, or driven mad with fear very soon, and it would not matter whether Elessar, this new king of Gondor, had the crown or not. There would be no crown. There would be no Gondor.

Word had passed around the Houses of Healing that Mithrandir was placing all his hopes in a hobbit to bring down the dark lord. She did not know much, but she had heard whisperings that Isildur's bane had been found and was now the hobbit's weapon.

Peregrin, the hobbit she had seen, was so tiny that she could not imagine him defeating a child, let alone Sauron. But then the other one had taken on the witch king. Perhaps hobbits were brave but a little stupid. What the wizard was thinking putting the fate of Middle Earth in the hands of such a strange little creature she knew not, but then again she did not have much experience of wizards either.

She turned away from the doom filled sky and tried to focus her mind on her desire to sleep. She already felt better after having some food, but emotionally she was near spent. She felt tears pricking at her eyes just from being tired.

 _Such weakness!_ she chided herself. _What is happening to you?_

Grief and tiredness suddenly hit her like she was a tree being felled. She knew it was foolish to cry, but after the past few days she could not help herself. She was close to being overwhelmed with all that had happened. One minute of weakness she would permit herself, she decided, and she allowed the tears to fall – tears for the brave men who had died, tears for the uncertainty she had felt about Faramir's survival, tears for her long dead mother.

She sank onto a stone bench facing into the shadowy gardens, her back to the flames, and, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, she wept. She cried for the unknown, she cried for the future of Middle Earth, and all that could be lost if this hobbit should fail. She let out all her emotions about Faramir – having thought he was dead, then knowing he was spared but unsure as to how long for. And then, against all hope, him reviving and asking for her. Tears of relief, then tears of fear for their future, fell.

* * *

Legolas rarely felt grief. He was, after all, a warrior and used to witnessing death. He had mourned the loss of his mother, but that was over a thousand years ago. Others' grief he found hard to understand.

This girl, dressed in the garb of a healer, must surely have seen death before. She carried it with her, he could feel it in and around her. Sorrow was a part of her being.

She had great inner strength – he could see what it had cost her to succumb to her tears. Was she, perhaps, lonely? Did she have no one to turn to, to dry her tears, or to comfort her? He felt uncomfortable witnessing such grief. Should he say something, do something? Or leave? He had the ability to disappear quickly and quietly and she would be none the wiser. But part of him did not want to leave her so obviously distressed as she was.

He slowly stood until he was half obscured by the drooping branches of the willow, uncertain how to proceed.

* * *

Keren felt a lot better, having expelled all her emotion in one burst of tears. She heaved a shuddering sigh and mentally gathered herself together. She wiped the tears from her face and rose to leave, more than ready for sleep now.

As she turned a glint of silver caught her eye. The moon, now high in the sky, was making something shine in the shadows. She blinked and then gave a little start – someone was watching her. A figure stood unmoving and ethereal under a nearby tree, their hair in the moonlight a shade of near white. No Gondorian had hair such a shade. The figure was taller than her, and larger. Keren thought it was a man, but not like any she had seen before. She stood rooted to the ground.

* * *

Legolas remained in the shadows. The girl had seen him. Her eyes wide, she looked startled and vulnerable. Now, in order not to frighten her, he would have to speak.

"Please do not be afraid of me, I will not harm you." He spoke gently, so as not to alarm her, and with one arm slightly raised towards her, took a small step forwards out of the shadows.

* * *

The figure spoke, and Keren knew by his voice that he was not human. It was soft and melodic, with the smallest hint of an accent foreign to her. She felt rather than saw his steady, gentle gaze on her. Then he stepped forward into the light of the moon and, for the first time in her life, Keren beheld an elf.


	5. Chapter Five - A strange meeting

**Author note: Hello! I can't believe people are actually reading this all over the world! Well I guess that's how the internet works, but still, it's cool.** **Thank you so much to my first reviewers, bluelake7 and jshaw0624 - so nice to hear that you are enjoying it! Also thanks to chamomilla, str81994, tuttachechka and maanou for faving/following - I hope you all enjoy where the story goes, it's going to be quite a rollercoaster for Keren. Speaking of which, she's just met Legolas for the first time. I am willing her to stay calm, but we all know she won't. If you think my chapters are a tad too long give me a heads up, as I've been toying with the idea of splitting them in half. Please keep leaving reviews, I love them! It looked like my bribery worked last time (only half kidding), so yes, there is a lot more Legolas in this chapter! I should be uploading chapter 6 in the next few days, it's all been written, just want to crack on with 7. x**

* * *

 **Chapter five - A strange meeting**

"You're an elf!" Keren spoke without thinking.

She was more excited than fearful for she had waited, it seemed to her, all her life to catch sight of one of these strange beings, and now one had just spoken to her!

"I am," the elf said," and I am sorry if I startled you. I am afraid elves have a habit of doing that."

She mutely shook her head, taking in his appearance. He was very tall, over six feet, slender and fair. It was hard to tell in this light if his hair was golden or silver, but either way it shone in the moonlight. It was long and straight over his shoulders, although it was pulled back from his face, which was, she was pleased to notice, very fair to look upon, as the tales had said all elves were. In the dim light she thought she saw two braids either side of his forehead, which revealed – she gave a sharp intake of breath – finely pointed ears. She thought he was dressed in different shades of green, but it could have been grey. She could not see the colour of his eyes.

"What are you doing…" She stopped, thinking she sounded rude, and tried again. "What brings you to the Houses of Healing?"

He smiled at her awkwardness.

"I am a companion of Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gimli, son of Gloin," he said. "I fought alongside them in the Pelennor fields."

"Oh, you've been wounded?" Keren could think of no other reason as to why he would be there, although she could not see evidence of any injuries.

"Nay," he replied, "I have been visiting a friend, one of the hobbits who is in the healers' care. His name is Merry."

She nodded.

"I know of whom you speak," she said with a small smile. "I have not the task of tending him, so I have not yet made his acquaintance. My work currently lies with the White Lady of Rohan, she who slew the Witch-King, and the Lord Fara…Faramir, the new steward of Gondor."

She inwardly cursed herself for stumbling over his name.

Legolas knew better than to comment on her hesitation, but better understood why she had been crying. He could tell, as all elves could, just by her voice and her eyes that she was not married, but her eyes seemed filled with a strange emotion when she spoke that name, one of hope yet sadness. Legolas did not fully understand love, but thought that was what was causing her pain and frustration. He had not yet, to his knowledge, been introduced to someone who could provoke such emotion in him.

Elves mated for beyond the duration of their lives, bonding to each other in a private and sacred way. In his over two thousand years on middle earth, not one had called to his heart, even though most of his kin met their bond mate shortly after reaching maturity. He had gathered a reputation therefore as a strange elf, choosing solitude over love.

He had witnessed many great partnerships.

Aragorn and the Evenstar were one such pairing, albeit an unusual one – a relationship that would ultimately end in tragedy, and yet Legolas could see the pure joy emanating from them when they were together. They had pledged themselves to each other, and he knew Arwen would find no other love after Aragorn's death, but would either die of grief, or dwindle into silence until she faded away to nothing.

Strange was their fate - having such brief happiness that was yet enough for Arwen to give up her immortality. Being half-elven she could make such a choice. Legolas would have no similar option. Not that he could ever see himself bound to a mortal. Or to anyone for that matter.

There had been no mention in Galadriel's prophecy that another would sail with him. He had grown to accept that he would never know the intimacy of love before his last journey.

His father despaired of him ever providing an heir for the woodland realm. But then Thranduil knew that elves could not be committed to one they have not bonded with, so all he could do was wait for Legolas to stumble upon the love of his life.

 _You may be waiting for all eternity, Ada_ , he thought.

Keren noticed the strange elf had fallen silent, so she gratefully changed the subject.

"I know of this Aragorn whom you spoke of," she said, "although he is now calling himself Elessar. He is a great healer, and has worked a miracle on my charges. But who is Gimli, son of Gloin? Such a strange name."

"It has a strange owner," he replied. "Gimli is a dwarf, and my friend."

He added no more, so she pressed on.

"And what is your name?" she asked. "If I'm allowed to know it."

She knew nothing of elvish ways other than the tales passed down, and was not sure if it was polite to ask an elf who they were. She had heard that they thought themselves far above mortals.

"An elf friend may know anything and all things," he replied, and Keren wondered what that strange remark meant. "My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood."

Keren's eyes grew embarrassingly wide. These past few days just could not get any stranger – what with lost kings returning, witch-kings being slain, hobbits, wizards, dwarves, and now elven royalty standing right before her! She realised too late that she was staring.

He patiently waited for her to absorb his father's title, as he was used to having to do.

"And your name?" he asked politely.

Keren remembered how her mouth worked.

"Keren." She managed nothing more than a choked whisper. She cleared her throat and laughed nervously. He smiled in return.

"Sorry," she said more clearly. "I've never met an elf before, let alone a royal one. My name is Keren, daughter of Maleron. I'm a healer here, your highness. Is that right, do I call you your highness?"

She cringed. He smiled at her again, although he was puzzled as to her mention of having never met an elf. Her fëa was fair calling him to recognise her.

"My name will suffice," he replied.

She nodded awkwardly, but then her gaze was drawn past his shoulder to the mountains in the east once more. He could feel her fear.

"Were you crying because you are afraid?" he could not help but ask.

Her eyes snapped back to his.

"Oh. You saw that."

"I did not mean to intrude," he said.

She did not answer his question. Rather a question came to her mind which she knew she should not ask.

"Do such times frighten you? Do elves even feel fear?"

Legolas looked at her in surprise. No one had ever asked him if he was afraid before. He thought awhile before answering.

"Anyone who says they are not afraid in such times is lying," he eventually said, staring at the distant flames. "But elves, with our long lives, tend to be less fearful. We have seen many evils against the world be defeated. Our people therefore have more faith than most that hope will endure, and goodness prevail."

"But is it not true that the elves are all leaving Middle Earth?" she asked quickly.

"That is true," he said. "But not because we fear evil times, but rather that we know it is now time for the race of men."

"Will _you_ leave?" she wondered.

"Yes, I have been called to sail," he said simply. "One day."

He sounded sad. She changed the subject again.

"I have heard that our only hope in this war now lies with a hobbit," Keren said. "How can one such as that be our saviour?"

The elf looked at her intently.

"His name is Frodo," he said, "and he has more strength than any human I have ever met."

"You know him?" she asked wonderingly.

He nodded and stepped a little closer, eager to share tales of the hobbit and his companions. He had told Prince Imrahil of their journey and trials, but very little had he spoken of his friends.

"We travelled far together. I was part of a fellowship that were all sworn to protect him as he travelled to Mordor. Aragorn, Gimli and Mithrandir were amongst the group."

"Mithrandir, the white wizard?" she asked.

"A great _ithryn_ , yes," he replied.

" _Ithryn_?" She did not recognise the strange word.

"It means wizard in Sindarin, my language," he explained.

"I thought the elves of Mirkwood were Silvan," she said.

"Most are, but they all speak the language of the Sindar as well as the woodland tongue," Legolas said, surprised at the young woman's knowledge of his people. "The royal line is of mixed Sindar blood, but the elves under our protection are full Silvan. I myself would say I am both races, or either one, depending on who I'm speaking to."

He gave her a wry smile.

"What do you mean?" She was fascinated with all the elf was telling her.

"Although both races are related, Sindar elves are seen as noble and fair, Silvan a little wilder and dangerous, in the eyes of some at least," he explained.

"Oh," Keren said. "You don't seem all that dangerous to me."

"You have not seen me in combat, nor shall you," he said seriously.

Then with a lift of his chin and a change of tone in his voice he moved back to his tale, seamlessly taking the conversation away from himself, Keren noticed.

"Also in our company was Boromir, brother of Faramir, but he was slain at Amon Hen, pierced with many of the enemy's arrows. He fought bravely, but alone and greatly outnumbered. I heard the horn of Gondor as he called for aid from us, but he was dead by the time I reached him. Aragorn was by his side."

Keren was shocked. She had heard that when the steward learnt of his eldest son's death he went mad with grief. This elf had witnessed all. Was he the one who had told Lord Denethor the tale of his son's passing? No, she remembered, that had been Pippin the hobbit.

"The two periain here," she said, using the formal term, not wanting to use the strange word in front of the elf and risk looking a fool, "were they also a part of your group?"

"Merry and Pippin, aye," he replied. "And another, Samwise. He has followed Frodo. The prefer the term 'hobbits', by the way. But my path lay not with them, but with Aragorn. Now it has brought me here."

"Glad I am of it," she said without thinking, a smile on her face.

He looked at her strangely.

"I – I mean I – "

 _Curse my mouth!_

"Long have I desired to look on one of your people," she forced out eventually. "And now I have seen one – you – I know that whatever happens in this war there are still good and gracious beings in the world."

Her fëa seemed to brush against his as she spoke this. Legolas stood entranced. She could not have been speaking the truth before, she was so closely and clearly bonded to the elvish kingdom. And yet she seemed honest. Was it possible she was unaware of it?

"Well, I would not say we are all good and gracious, but I thank you for your words," he said. "There is something I do not understand though. You say you have never met one of my kind before?"

She shook her head. "You are the first."

Her fëa pulsed in response – in denial it seemed to him.

"But how can this be?" he asked, stepping closer still. "You are an elf friend."

She stepped back from him, the catkins of the old willow tree now tickling her face.

"Elf friend? What does this mean?" she asked.

"An elf has welcomed you, blessed you with knowledge of our kind and any wisdom we have to pass on, in thanks for something you or your kin have done to aid my people," he explained. "It is rare for one so young, but you would be welcome in any of my people's homes."

He could tell by her face that no such event had occurred, at least within her memory. He did not want to frighten her, so did not question her further, but he was curious. She was a mystery to him, one that he could not solve quickly.

"I know not of what you speak," she said, slightly unnerved by this creature who looked so human and yet seemed so strange. "There are humans then, such as this? I have never heard of such a thing."

"There have been many friendships between elves and those of other races. Some are now legendary," he began. "In these times it is rare, but there are some. The one you know as Elessar, his elven name is Estel."

"He is an elf friend?" she wondered.

"Rather more an adopted elf," he said. "He was given a home by Lord Elrond and raised as his own, given a new identity."

"Lord Elrond?" she gasped, amazed. "The half-elven? He knows him?"

He grinned at her excitement.

"Aye," the elf confirmed. "Almost as a son he is to Elrond."

"Do all elf friends have elven names given them?" she wondered.

"No, it is a great honour," he said. "Usually it takes some special meaning. Estel means hope in Sindarin."

He did not go into detail as to why Elessar was named such, and she did not ask, although she had a feeling it was something to do with the ongoing war. She began to understand the man's skill at healing. But the elf's answers kept leading her to more questions.

"Do you have many languages?" she asked. She had heard of Sindarin – Minas Tirith itself was a Sindar name, and the steward and high nobles of the city still spoke it – but knew of no others.

The elf chuckled. She had the curiosity of a hobbit.

"Sorry," Keren said. "I'm asking too many questions. I should leave you to…whatever it was that you were doing."

Legolas shook his head as if to tell her not to worry. "There are many elvish languages and dialects, but today we mostly speak Sindarin, and most of us are also fluent in your tongue of Westron. Quenya is used at formal occasions."

His accent was most strange the more she listened to it, curiously lilting, and he had a peculiar habit of rolling his r's. It was a very pleasant voice however, and she knew that she would not tire of listening to it.

"And in answer to your other, unspoken question," he went on, giving her a knowing look, "I am not precisely _doing_ anything. Rather I was visiting the gardens and decided to stay a while. I like being amongst nature, even if it is held within a city of stone."

His gaze turned to the trees, and he looked pensive before continuing.

"Now I have a question for you."

His eyes flicked to hers.

"Yes?" She wondered what kind of question such a noble creature could possibly have for her.

"What can you tell me of these gardens? How did such a place come to be? There are none others that I have seen, which saddens me."

Keren hesitated.

"You will have to ask the warden of the Houses for the history of this place," she eventually replied. "I do not know."

She was embarrassed, realising for the first time that she probably should have shown an interest in the history of the Houses of Healing.

"If I were to be honest…" she started.

"Always a good way to be," he added.

"Well, if I am honest then, I was always more interested in learning the history of your people than the history of here, which is perhaps something I should not admit to."

"And just why are you so interested in my kind?" he asked, not unkindly.

She shrugged. "I know not. I just always have been. My mother had books filled with great tales of elven Kings and heroes. I grew up with them."

Legolas wondered if there was something else her mother had passed on to create this strong connection with his race, something a little more unusual. Her fëa was once again pressing as if to draw his attention to something. Could her mother have been part elven? He had been quick to recognise the very faint strain of Elvish blood in some men before, but he supposed it could sometimes prove elusive.

"Never did I think I would actually meet one of you," she said to fill the silence, which felt incredibly awkward to her.

"Well," he said with a smile, "I hope I do not disappoint."

She smiled back shyly and shook her head.

"Never will I forget our meeting, your highness."

She spoke true. If her mother were still alive she would have been so excited to hear the tale.

"Just Legolas," he reminded her.

She pursed her lips, embarrassed by his familiarity.

"Why do you think I am an elf friend?" she said, to draw attention away from her nervousness. "I cannot be. My family are not great heroes; I have never even seen an elf until now."

Her voice rose in frustration, and perhaps a little with fear.

Legolas made a decision to be truthful and to tell her at least what he suspected. Better yet, he would show her. The girl would be worrying over this, perhaps for the short duration of her whole life, if he did not say. She did not have to believe it.

"Do not be afraid," he said softly, slowly closing the gap between them until both were now shielded by the hanging catkins of the willow, "and I will show you."

Despite his words, Keren _was_ afraid. Now, even if someone were to enter the gardens, the two of them would not be seen in the dim light. The tree shielded them from view as if it knew they needed protection from any watchful eyes. She was entirely alone with this strange figure from the old tales, come to life before her. She had known elves still existed, but she thought they were reclusive, proud and disdainful towards the race of men. This one, even with his royal blood, seemed willing to answer her questions, and even had a sense of humour. He actually seemed to enjoy talking to her. The thought of that terrified her. She wished someone would come into the gardens so she would feel safer. Her eyes flicked to the entrance of the Houses in hope, but she saw only shadows.

The elf noticed her anxious glance.

"I am frightening you," he said, his dark eyebrows creasing in concern.

"A little," she admitted, looking down at his feet – which, she belatedly noticed, were bare – rather than having to face his gaze. "You are so strange."

She looked up at him then, mortified. She had not meant to say that out loud. What happened if one offended an elf? He had said he was dangerous.

But his eyes remained calm – still it was too dark to see their colour – as he took in her expression, assessing her. He could feel her fear, but also her curiosity. She looked lost somehow, at war with herself. He studied her face intently, looking for answers.

"Not as strange as you are to me, Keren daughter of Maleron," he said softly, his voice making her name sound strange and beautiful. "How can you not know what you are?"

She stared up at him, quite a long way up, for he discovered he had been right and she did only come up to his chest. Her young face was covered in signs of exhaustion, and Legolas felt great pity for her at how much this war must already be affecting her simple human life. She had great dark rings under her eyes, and a large red blemish just under her mouth. Her eyes were watery and red-rimmed due to tiredness and her recent tears. Her lips were dry and chapped.

Keren was momentarily lost for words again as she registered the elf's close proximity to her. If he moved any closer their bodies would be touching. She was conscious that she had not rested or washed properly in days, and that her healers' garb had many a bloody stain. She could not remember the last time she had looked in a mirror, but she was sure her hair was becoming greasy by now, and she could feel a large spot had erupted on her chin. Whereas he was of course, being elf kind, physically perfect. His skin had not one blemish or mark, and there were no dark circles under his eyes despite his long journey. His hair was long over his shoulders and smooth, with not one tangle in it, and she wondered if it would feel soft underneath her fingers if she reached up to touch it.

She was suddenly intensely embarrassed. She had never been this close to another male before. His words and manner intrigued her but also frightened her, and she had a sudden desire to run.

Legolas could sense the girls' discomfort. Perhaps this was a foolish idea. He had been planning on gently touching her arm, so she could feel the connection she had with his people, so much easier than trying to explain. But then he thought better of it as he heard her breathing grow uncertain and shallow. His instinct proved correct as the girl hurriedly spoke, looking anywhere but at him.

"I must go inside now. It was nice to meet you, your highness. Good luck with the war."

She ducked under the leaves, careful not to brush by him, and ran through the gardens until the shadows took her from his sight.

Legolas sighed in frustration. Usually his manner put men at ease, but this girl was clearly terrified of him. And now he would never know her story. He wondered why he was interested.

He walked slowly over to the wall where she had stood and gazed out across to the Black Land. He did not yet know the result of the debate which had taken place that day between the Lords of the West. But he knew that whatever the decision, he wanted to be by the side of his friend, the future King of men. Not for anything would he abandon Aragorn now.

Legolas well knew that to follow his friend would perhaps mean going to his doom.

He thought now of Aragorn, riding into battle with Arwen's standard flying, the knowledge of her love for him enough to give him strength and courage in the face of a terrible enemy.

If Legolas fell in this war, who would mourn? His father. Aragorn and Gimli, if they were spared. The fellowship, those of their number that survived. He could think of no others. Perhaps he had made a mistake in not bonding, and now he was doomed to die, or sail alone. But he could not force love upon himself, even now.

 _Such thoughts are unworthy of you_ , he chided himself, shaking his head. _Now, when battle is upon you, is not the time for regrets._

* * *

Keren removed her soiled clothes and gave herself a hot bath before bed. As she washed the dirt away from her pale skin she felt her eyes drooping with tiredness, but she could not allow herself to go to sleep still with the blood of dead men upon her. Once her hair and body were clean she fell into bed without putting her nightdress on and with her hair still wet. She knew she would probably catch a sniffle by doing so, but a sniffle seemed a minor price to pay for sleep.

When her head hit the pillow she was annoyed, for immediately the elf's words echoed through her head, and remained there for an infuriatingly long time.

He had not even touched her, but she felt his presence around her as if his mind was pushing at hers trying to get in.

She was ashamed of her rudeness, leaving in such haste, and yet relieved that she had not stayed any longer. His words, his intense manner, the whole meeting were too much for her tired brain to process on top of everything else.

Her thoughts then flitted to her conversation with Faramir, and she remembered with joy that she was to go to him first thing in the morning, that he had asked for her to be by his side. But this was still not a good enough distraction from the memories of her meeting with the elf. What if he was still out there? What if he stayed there all night? She doubted she would ever see him, or indeed any elf, again, and the thought made her heart constrict with regret. She wished she had stayed and spoken further with him, to find out more of his people.

It was with that regret that her mind reached absolute exhaustion, and allowed her thoughts to settle into their familiar pattern before sleep – her last conscious thought was, as always, the shade of Faramir's imagined kiss on her lips, and the crystals' prophecy of what was to come. She sighed and slept.

She dreamt of nothing.


	6. Chapter Six - Ill news

**Author note: It feels so silly to have to keep telling people this, but** ** _obviously_** **I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, just Keren and her family.**

 **Thanks zenstarrflower for the follow and fav :)**

 **Thanks jshaw0624 for another kind review - you have no idea how much research I did for that conversation, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I didn't want to do the usual first meeting thing of 'oh my god he's so hot', or rather (they are in Middle Earth after all), 'sweet Eru, but he is wondrous fair'. Although Keren would have to be blind not to notice. I also wanted to make sure I got all the facts right about Legolas' life and Elvish culture, just out of respect to Tolkien I guess. I discovered a website called realelvish which is brilliant (and funny), a work in progress but so useful for fanfic writers who want to do it properly! So yeah they're chat was mostly Keren geeking out about elves, but I hope ( I really hope) that there was just enough of a hint of a little frisson of *something* between them.**

 **Anyhoo, in this chapter Keren and Faramir get to know each other - some frisson-ing going on there too - and there's some pretty rubbish news, hence the title (which is a little nod to Wormtongue's name for Gandalf).**

* * *

 **Chapter six – Ill news**

Keren awoke with a clear head, feeling well rested despite everything that had occurred. She rolled over with a smile and a happy sigh. As soon as she was conscious she remembered that Faramir had asked for her to go to him. After her awkward encounter with the elf she no longer felt fear of being in Faramir's – a simple man's – presence. His mind and heart were, after all, the same as hers, unlike the odd creature she had met last night. She scrunched her eyes up in annoyance and forced the elf from her head.

Turning her thoughts back to Faramir, she decided she would not press the conversation back to their first meeting, but neither would she flee again if that was where their talk led. She was nervous yes, but not terrified.

She looked over to Palen, who had crept in whilst Keren was asleep. Palen was now lightly snoring herself. Keren looked at her fondly. It would not be long now until her sister was properly reunited with her husband, who had come to the houses briefly yesterday to reassure her all was well with him. So wrapped up had Keren been with Faramir that she had selfishly forgotten that Palen had her own love to be worrying over. Once the hobbit was properly up and about Palen could be released for a few days' respite back at her home with Dannor. It would do them both good to spend time together after almost two weeks apart.

Keren rose and stretched. She dressed herself with much more care than usual, choosing a freshly laundered shift and kirtle which still smelt of sweet herbs. The uniform was a dull dark blue, and the colour had faded which could not be helped, but she pulled the bodice of the kirtle a little lower than she normally did, to allow her shift to stretch over the tops of her breasts. Palen, if she were awake, would tell her off for using a whore's trick, but then she had seen her do the same thing when Dannor was first introduced to her. It would definitely be a step too far to pull the shift down as well, she decided, after thinking about it for far too long.

When she pinned her hair up and attached her scarf she made sure that some wisps hung down to frame her face. She could always pin them up if Ioreth or the warden said anything, but she would try her best to hide from them before she saw Faramir. Nothing could be done about the dark circles under her eyes, but she could hope that the more she rested the better they would appear over the next few days. The spot on her chin was also a problem, but she pinched her cheeks to bring some colour to her face and hoped that would be distraction enough.

She went to the refectory to break her fast, although she could not eat much due to her anticipation of what the day was to bring.

She went straight to the warden's room where Faramir lay, hoping that he would have left already so that the only person who might possibly notice and comment on her appearance would be Beregond, who she knew would probably just laugh.

Sure enough, he was there, beside Faramir's bedside, the warden long gone. Faramir was sitting up and looked brighter. The two men were laughing gently together, as if reminiscing, but there was an easily sensed anxiety in their manner. She wondered what news the morning had brought them both.

"Good morning," she said quietly from the doorway.

Both men looked over to her, and if either noticed at first glance her peculiar efforts that morning, neither of them showed it in his face. She could not help but be a little disappointed. She smiled awkwardly, as was her wont lately.

"Ah." Faramir's smile dazzled her, and rendered her speechless that he was smiling at her, for her alone. "Here is my favourite healer. You may leave us Beregond."

Beregond looked with surprise at Faramir's great smile for her, then shot her a happy, puzzled glance and rose.

"As you wish my lord," Beregond said with a small bow. "Although you know I cannot go far."

Faramir looked troubled.

"As soon as I take up my authority we will see about that my friend," he said. "You were loyal to me, and I will have him know that."

"My lord," Beregond nodded and turned on his heel swiftly. "I will remain outside the door."

Keren puzzled at this exchange. She looked worriedly at Beregond as he left. He shook his head minutely and winked at her, but she knew him, and she knew he was troubled.

She walked a little closer until Faramir had to laugh at her shyness.

"Come and sit," he said.

She sat, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Do you mind if I check your wound and your temperature, my lord?" she asked in a rush.

 _Best get this out of the way_ , she thought.

"I was hoping you would," he said in a friendly tone. "Are you a healer, or are you simply making a habit lately of finding a way to be at my side exactly when I have need of you?" He teased her gently. "For I did have need of you that day, although I did not know it at the time. You gave me hope."

Her breath caught as she took in his words, so clearly speaking of his first sight of her at the gates, but carried on with the task she had given herself. Her hand was surprisingly steady as she brushed the hair from his face and held the back of her hand up to his forehead. She gently took his wrist between the fingers of her other hand to check his pulse. It was steady and strong, to her great relief, and there was no hint of a fever, his forehead cool and smooth.

Keren could not believe her boldness as she said: "Is it a habit you wish me to keep up, my lord?"

Her hands remained where they were and their eyes met for the shortest of moments before she drew away.

"Call me Faramir," he said. "And I hope I may call you Keren?"

Her heart leaped in her chest.

"You may, and I will, my lord," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Faramir," she said quietly with a smile.

She hoped beyond hope that no one would come in and hear them addressing each other so familiarly. She also wanted as long as possible alone with him.

"I will check your wound now," she said, avoiding any further names or titles. "You will need to sit up so I can change the dressing."

He slowly raised himself up so he was holding his own weight, grimacing slightly as he felt the delicate skin around the injury stretch. Keren tried to hide the deep breath she took. The last time she had checked his injury he had been unconscious so therefore had not been aware of her shaking hands. Now she realised exactly what had to happen she felt incredibly immature at her reaction. She had seen many men's bodies in her job, but now it was him under her care it felt very different.

"Are you able to remove your shirt?" she asked quickly. "I can – I can help you if you need."

"I think I would…appreciate your assistance," he said, and she could see he was ashamed to admit this. She had seen this many times, so as simply and as quickly as she could she pulled the thin material up and over his head, as he gingerly bent his arms and neck. He hissed in pain as he raised his left arm a little higher than his injury would have liked.

She placed his shirt on the bed and checked his bandages. They had been changed the night before by the look of things, and they were still clean. She remembered Palen had told her yesterday that the wound had stopped bleeding. Gently she reached around his neck and undid the neat knot at his shoulder, unwinding the thin strips of linen that had been wrapped around his chest from his right shoulder down to his ribs on his left side, covering his heart, to which the arrow had entered perilously close to. He made sure to keep his gaze down towards the bed, feeling a little uncomfortable. He was not ashamed of his body, but he was not used to a woman tending him.

Keren made sure that she focussed on the bandages not on his torso. Once they were all removed she saw that the injury to his chest was healing nicely. The warden's stitches were still in place, small and neat, and there was no blood. There was some bruising, yellow and blue patches spreading from the wound, but that would fade. Her eyes took in his chest as a whole, and then, against her better judgement, swept over his lightly muscled bare arms and his toned stomach. She knew he was a soldier so had expected this, a body well-conditioned and well cared for, but to be in such close proximity to him, as she had her imaginings confirmed, was making it hard to concentrate on her task.

"How is it?" he asked, sounding worried. And no wonder, he probably thought she had been staring silently in horror at the state of him.

"Um," she said, her voice tiny. "It has healed well; you will only have a small scar."

She brought her eyes up to his relieved face.

"But you will need to be careful for a couple of weeks," she added, "until we remove the stitches."

He nodded.

Keren was uncertain how to proceed now she had done her duty. Was she simply supposed to provide him with company?

 _But he has Beregond for that_. _So what am I supposed to do now?_

"I know that the warden has told you about your father." She said the first thing that came to her head, and immediately regretted it as his expression turned stony.

"Yes," he muttered. "But I do not think he is telling me all."

Her breath held in her chest. She knew what had really happened and she could not be the one to tell him. Besides, they had all had orders from Elessar not to say.

"You are still recovering," she said. "You almost fell into shadow; you were so nearly taken from us. It would be too much for you. He is trying to spare your feelings."

"My feelings?" he glared at her. "I would have the truth."

"Trust me," she took his hand without thinking. "Trust that we will tell you, when the time is right. For now, just focus on healing."

"You would keep this from me too?" he said in disbelief.

"Only because I – I care for you too much to hurt you with the tale." She managed to look him straight in the eye.

It seemed to distract him.

"Do you care for me very much?" he said, his hand remaining in hers.

"Yes," she whispered. "Very much."

She was close to faltering under the stare from his stony grey eyes. They were so intense, and the way they were looking on her felt almost possessive. She felt a thrill in her stomach, which was quickly replaced by a feeling of loss as she felt his hand slip from hers. She wondered if this was all a horrible mistake and he was going to tell her to leave before she embarrassed herself further. She looked down and closed her eyes with shame and sadness.

Then she felt a warm hand gently cupping her chin between finger and thumb, raising her head. His eyes were soft and kind, his expression curious.

"Why?" he asked softly.

She hesitated. Now would be the time to tell him of the prophecy, but even thinking of that one word made Keren laugh internally. It sounded so ominous and dramatic, and she did not wish him to think her completely mad.

He sensed that she was uncomfortable and withdrew his hand from her face.

"Tell me," he said. "You need not be worried. I saw something in your face that day. You love me?"

Keren was far beyond the point of denial – she had already hurriedly told him when he awoke, and she knew she was terrible at keeping her emotions from her face.

"Yes," she admitted. "But I cannot tell you why. It is too strange."

He regarded her closely, but decided not to press her. He had had a handful of women who had claimed to love him before, but none as innocent and endearing as this one. He wondered if perhaps, for the first time, he could reciprocate those feelings. How strange their meeting had been – he had never known anything like it. His feelings at that moment he still did not fully understand, so did not wish to speak of it to her yet. But she was intriguing, definitely.

"Not as strange as you are to me, Keren daughter of Maleron," he said.

She stared. Had those very words not been said to her just the night before? But by one very different to the man that sat before her now.

She tried to brush off the strange coincidence, but for too long a time to feel comfortable, it had robbed her of speech.

"Come," he said, noticing that something had troubled her. "Let us talk of other things. Tell me of you – have you always lived in Minas Tirith?"

Keren gratefully, but haltingly, began to tell him of her life, which he seemed very interested in. Once she felt she had exhausted that topic she began asking him questions of his life in the citadel. She was curious how the son of a steward spent his days. He brushed quickly over his childhood, and life with his father, seeming to far more enjoy telling her about his patrols in Ithilien – what a fair and beautiful land it was, but dangerous, being so close to Mordor. She was sad but not surprised to hear how orcs and Southrons made regular attacks on his men, but fascinated to hear of the strange animals that he had seen. He had discovered from Beregond that they had been used in the attack against the city, and when he told Keren so she marvelled.

"They must be as big as houses," she exclaimed.

"Bigger, some of them," he said enthusiastically. " _Mûmakil_ they are called, from the deserts of Harad."

She shook her head in wonder.

"From so far away. This world is so large, and I have never even left the city."

He looked at her curiously.

"Would you like to travel?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I want to see parts of the world, but not all. And I'm not sure I'd be a very good travelling companion, but it is not safe to go alone. Besides, I am needed here." She smiled, a little embarrassed. "If I were not tied to the Houses I think I'd like to…" But then she stopped that train of thought, as after last night she was less certain of the truth of it.

"To…?" he prompted.

"It is just a dream of mine," she said. "If I had no responsibilities here I would travel to the north, past the mountains. I had a desire to see the elves. Don't laugh."

He was not laughing, but she did not want him to start.

"Do you not have such a desire anymore?" he asked instead. "I share your interest in them. It is strange: the high men of Gondor speak their tongue, I could recite many a Sindarin poem, and yet few of us have ever seen one. I would like to know if they are truly as perfect as everyone says."

Before last night she would have smiled, but instead she just nodded.

"I think they all would be," she admitted. "I met one last night, and they were."

"You met one? Here? In the city?" he exclaimed.

"In the gardens of these very Houses," she said. "He had travelled here with Elessar. He told me – "

"It was a he?" he asked quickly, which made her mouth quirk up into a little half smile.

"Yes, and he was very… odd," she said, which seemed to be good news to him. "I think I did not like him much. He was polite enough, but he was just so different."

He frowned slightly.

"I hope he did not upset you?"

She shook her head.

"No," she replied. "But I am glad our meeting is done. His manner was rather intense. I do not feel I could sit with him as I am sitting here with you and just laugh and talk as we are doing."

"Well of that I am glad," he said with a smile. "It means I get you all to myself."

She looked away, eyes wide with embarrassment.

"I – I did not mean – " he began.

"I know," she said quickly, pleased she was not prone to blushing.

Awkward seconds passed by.

"What were you and Beregond speaking of?" she found herself asking.

"He was telling me of the decision that was made at a council yesterday," he replied. "Tomorrow a great host is departing, to march on the black gate of Mordor. The men of the west are making a last stand, it seems."

He hesitated before continuing.

"I do not know how much you know of all this," he began. "Isildur's bane? It is something I only learnt of recently."

"I know a little," she said. "The elf told me that the rumours we have all been hearing were true, to an extent. But I cannot believe it – surely we have no chance against Sauron when he has only two hobbits to face?"

He sighed.

"I have met the creatures of which you speak," he admitted.

"You have seen a hobbit too?" she asked. "Are they not wondrous strange? Pippin, the one I have met, is scarcely to my waist, and yet he is a prince!"

"You misunderstand me," he said. "I have met those two particular hobbits, in Ithilien. Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, and long will I remember those names, although I have no hope of seeing their owners again."

 _This grows even stranger_ , Keren thought. _And I have not yet told him that the elf saw his brother die. One thing at a time though, poor man._

"Frodo told me many a strange thing," he continued," and I admit it took much to believe all that he said. But I suppose I shared odd tales too. It seemed after a time we came to trust and understand each other. He had the One Ring, Isildur's Bane. He is indeed going to Mount Doom to destroy it. I sent him on his way there, when I could have brought him to safety here, and chosen a great warrior to go in his place. Now I think I have sent him to his death."

Keren sat unmoving and silent, knowing that this tale was hard for him to tell.

"I will not tell you more, save that this host that leaves tomorrow is nothing but a distraction to draw Sauron's eye north, away from Mount Doom. To give Frodo a chance. It is near certain death for all who go. I am to stay, by Elessar's command, for he deems me too weak for the journey and for battle. I would give anything to be riding at his side, to honour the ring-bearer who has all the fate of the world on his small shoulders. It is cowardly and shameful to stay."

He looked bitter and stern.

"No!" she exclaimed, and held his hand. "Faramir, you are only here because you have faced the chance of death bravely once before, to save your city. Let others take up the burden now, you have given enough."

He smiled sadly down at her small hand in his.

"I must admit," he said quietly, "you are a pleasant distraction from my worries."

There was a gentle knock on the door – far too soon for both. The morning had passed unaccountably quickly, and now the warden was at the door, sending Keren away for her midday hour of rest. Things had returned to normal within the houses, and the healers were able to return to their usual hours of work, but Keren was reluctant now to go, for it meant leaving his side. She knew she must obey the warden however, so with a small secret squeeze of Faramir's hand, she rose, giving a quiet goodbye and a promise to return.

* * *

After lunch Keren went to her room. She had been looking forward to spending her lunch with Palen, and had been surprised when she had not been in the refectory. As soon as she entered the room she knew something was wrong.

Palen was curled up on her small bed, and weeping.

"Palen?" Keren crept slowly into the room. "What's wrong? Pal?"

She received no reply, just a tiny shake of the head.

"Palen, what is it?" Her sister was not normally one to show much emotion, or to waste time with crying, so she knew something was very, very wrong. "Please tell me."

A minute sound came, smothered by the pillow.

"Dannor."

"What about Dannor?" Keren for a second feared the worst, but then remembered that he had come by the Houses after the battle was won. She sat on her sister's bed and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Palen was silent for a time, and Keren watched the tears slowly fall. She could tell by the redness of her sister's face and the hoarseness of her voice that she had previously been sobbing loudly and for a prolonged time. Palen finally spoke, lifting her head slightly to look at her sister.

"Oh, Keren," she said before dissolving into tears once more. Her words came quickly, breathlessly and bitterly. "He is to go with – with the army to – to Mordor!"

Keren's arms went around her sister automatically, the words sending cold dread through her blood. Faramir had said it was near certain death for any man called upon to march, and well she did believe him. Ithilien was the nearest to the Black Land any man dared go. She had nothing to say, words of comfort would not come.

"We were to have some time together after the battle," Palen said, softly now, "but now he is being taken from me again. And this time there is no hope of him coming back, none."

"There is always – " Keren began.

"Oh, stop it Keren," Palen said angrily. "There is _not_ always hope, and I am tired of you saying there is throughout our entire lives."

Keren was taken aback at the despair and anger that was within the glare her sister threw her way.

"He has told me," Palen went on, "they are marching on the Black Gate, and they are going to face all the armies of Mordor, the Dark Lord himself. Only seven thousand are they hoping to muster, against the entire Land of Shadow. You're mad if you think they will survive!"

She broke down into a storm of angry weeping. Keren felt her own tears begin to form at her sister's hopelessness. Knowing that anything she said would be useless, she lay down next to Palen and hugged her tightly until the hour had passed and she had to return to work.

"What shall I tell the warden?" Keren said softly as she rose. "Shall I say you're ill?"

Palen shook her head.

"He knows," she said. "He was there when Dannor came to find me. He left us alone, but he knew what Dannor's tidings were. He sent me here afterwards. I have the rest of the day off."

Keren was reassured by the calmer tone her sister now spoke in, and tentatively asked an important question.

"Will you get to see him before he goes?"

Keren watched as the tears formed again in Palen's eyes, but this time she held them at bay as she shook her head.

"They are to leave early tomorrow; they have begun mustering already. We have said our goodbyes. Oh, I knew when I married him that he would have to fight, I just never thought…"

Keren hugged her tightly again.

"I must go back to work, but I don't want to leave you," she said sadly.

"I'll be alright," Palen replied numbly.

"I'll come and check on you as often as I can. Shall I bring you anything when I do?"

Palen shook her head and lay back down, her face to the wall.

"Bring me Dannor. That's all I want. But you can't."

"No, I can't." Keren said under her breath as she quietly closed the door. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Keren went back to the warden's room, and as she arrived outside the door some of her anxiety must have shown in her face, as before she entered the room Beregond, still in guard position, lay a firm hand on shoulder.

"What is wrong?" he asked quietly, so that Faramir would not hear through the door. "You've been crying."

"It's Palen really," she explained. "Dannor came to tell her he is part of the army that marches on the Black Gate, and he is leaving tomorrow."

Beregond looked grim.

"Aye," he said. "He is in my company. Once this day is done I am to go down to the Pelennor and check all are there who should be. Tomorrow we march."

Keren looked up at him, anguish plain on her face.

"You too?" she said. "You're leading a company? But I thought – "

"I cannot remain here, nor can I return to the citadel." He interrupted her firmly.

"Why? That's where you belong! If we were to have no guards while all our soldiers are gone what would happen?"

"I have to go Keren," he said, with no effort at explaining. "By order of the King I have to go."

"He's not King yet!" she almost shouted at him. "And what about Bergil?"

"I was going to ask you to keep an eye on him," he replied. "He's a brave lad, but he is categorically not coming with me. Just – will you, if he looks troubled, or lonely, or…"

He tailed off, and Keren could see the effort it was taking him to remain strong.

"You will come back Beregond. You will," she said. "You have to."

Beregond sighed and hugged her close. Keren was surprised at this new development.

"Long have I loved you as a daughter," he said in her ear. "Although don't tell your actual father that."

She smiled through her sudden tears.

"I see you more than him anyway, and I don't think he's too unhappy about it," she said.

And then a strange thought occurred to Keren. She had not stopped to wonder if her father was to go. And if he was, he had not yet come to let his children know, to say goodbye. She hugged Beregond tighter as she realised just what she would miss if he was to fall.

"Will you still be here to say goodbye when I leave?" she asked. "I'm staying with him until sundown."

He shook his head.

"By then I will be with my troops," he said. "Best say goodbye now, eh?"

"You will not go in to say goodbye to Faramir?"

"I did so this morning," he said, "and he did not take it well. I don't wish to remind him that he is not going with me. He is taking it hard that he has to stay."

"I know. Then, goodbye Beregond," she said simply. She rose up on tip-toe, hugged his broad shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Come back to us," she said. "Come back to your wife and your family, and your friends. You are brave, and a strong fighter. You will not fall."

Keren knew they were empty words, as she could not stop Faramir's words echoing in her head. He had seen the Black Gate, he had gone as close to Mordor as any would dare, and now a whole host of men were being asked to go that one step further.

"I will do my best," he said simply. They drew apart, and he held her arms, smiling. "Besides, Pippin is to be in my company, and I've heard hobbits are useful in battle."

She weakly smiled back, and opened the door. With a sad look over her shoulder, she stepped into the room and closed the heavy wooden door, and he was gone from her.

Faramir was asleep, of which she was strangely glad. She was too sad, and the conversation just past felt too personal, to share such things with him now. Silently she sat by his side.

He awoke rather abruptly, jumping to with a start, then laughed sleepily.

"You seem in good humour," she noticed.

"I dreamt I was riding on a _mûmak_ , and fell off," he admitted.

Keren laughed, and then immediately felt guilty for doing so, considering all the ill news she had heard that day. She knew the change showed on her face, and she held her breath as he took her hand.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"The march tomorrow," she replied. "My sister's husband, and my dear friend Beregond, are to be in the host. But let us not talk of it."

"We should talk of it," he said firmly. "We should honour them. It is my aim tomorrow to watch them all leave, from the walls in the gardens here. It is the least I can do."

She frowned. She understood his sentiment but was concerned that it would take too much of his strength.

"My lord, it has only been two days since you were healed, I do not think it wise – "

"Oh, I am 'my lord' again now I have made you unhappy?" he said with a smile, which she returned.

"Calling you by your name does not make it a wise decision," she replied. "I think you are still too weak to be contemplating leaving your bed, let alone walking to the gardens."

"Allow me to prove you wrong?" he asked. "Besides it's about time the warden got his room back, the poor man's been sleeping in a cupboard since I was brought in. I should go to another room."

"Faramir, I – "

"Aha! My name once more; then you are starting to warm up to the idea."

"Oh, very well," she gave in. "Tomorrow we will see how you get on rising from your bed. I will permit you to watch from the window, but that is all. And I will have to speak to the warden about you changing rooms."

She wondered at how easily she instructed him, this great lord. And yet their easy conversation felt right and natural. When they were together, their troubles seemed to disappear and nothing else existed save their time in that room, which was fast becoming a temple of happiness to Keren.

"Come to me tomorrow morn," he said. "And we will watch together."

"Alright," she said. "Now tell me more about that dream."


	7. Chapter seven - Candlelight

**Author note: Only the OCs are mine. Thanks Samayo Kaze and the lil witch for fav-ing, and Tibblets and elvenwood for following :)**

 **jshaw0624 - thanks so much for your reviews! Hmm what lies in store for Beregond and Dannor? If you've read the books you'll know that at least one of them makes it out alive... PS I know in my last reply to one of your reviews I used 'they're' instead of 'their'. I am a grammar fiend so kicked myself, haha just had to mention it!**

 **kohl - Eowyn and Legolas are both going to have major parts to play in this story, it's been plotted right up to the end so their fates are sealed! And obviously I'm not going to say what they are!**

 **I'm breaking my 'always one chapter ahead' rule in order to get something out before I go away. I'm going to Italy for three weeks, so there will be a while without any updates, but rest assured I will be having a lovely time on holiday and definitely won't have abandoned the story!**

 **As always I love reading your reviews, and seeing that people are following the story means so much, so please keep them coming! Especially as I've never done anything like this before! It's quite hard to write serious stuff and I hope I'm not taking it too far and there's little touches of humour throughout. Also I literally cringe when I write the romantic/fluff stuff, so if those bits are atrocious please be gentle in your (deserved) criticism!**

 **See you all soon x**

* * *

Chapter seven – Candlelight

The sun rose the next day with a deep amber light in the east, which crept through Keren and Palen's room. When it fell across her face Keren awoke and looked across at Palen. She was thankfully, finally, asleep. Keren rose quickly and quietly, not wishing to wake her sister and bring back the cruel reality that her husband was gone. She stole from the room and followed the familiar path to Faramir's side.

There was no Beregond there this morning, and she felt a pang of sadness and worry at the thought of him waiting to march to his doom.

She knocked on the door and was surprised to hear Faramir's deep voice call out to her that she could enter. She had thought as it was only minutes past dawn that he would still be asleep.

The sight she saw once she was within the room took her greatly by surprise.

He was stood with his back to her, at the window, fully dressed. A full tub of water was left cooling on the floor, which he had obviously had brought to him and bathed in before sunrise.

 _Stupid, stubborn man!_ Keren thought immediately. _But now I think I love him even more._

Now he had risen from his bed – and she was in far closer proximity to him now than at any other time she had seen him stood at full height – she was taken aback by just how tall he was, and how much he seemed to fill the room. The blood of Númenor showed itself strongly in him, and Keren, for the smallest second, felt tiny and insignificant next to him. But then she remembered how he had dreamt of falling off a _mûmak,_ and how tenderly he had touched her face in the past, and knew that she had nothing to be afraid of.

His dark hair was damp and lightly curled at the nape of his neck, and she wondered what would happen if she went up behind him and gently threaded it through her fingers.

She was pleased with the friendship that was developing between them, but she was still mightily confused as to how he saw her.

 _As a servant probably,_ she thought miserably.

But then the smile he gave her as he turned and took in her appearance behind him was enough to make her hopeful.

"Ready to leave?" he asked her with a slightly cocky smile.

"When you said you wished to prove me wrong I simply thought you meant that you would try to get out of bed," she said.

"I am filled with a strange energy today Keren," he said, walking away from the window and, to her delight, grasping her forearms with his strong hands. "If I cannot march with these men, then I will stand at the walls of my city and watch them go. Will you watch with me?"

She could not help but smile at his enthusiasm, but he was not fooling her. He still looked tired, and despite the fact that he had been eating and was well rested, she was concerned at him taking the walk to the gardens so soon. She could not believe that not even half a week had passed since she had seen him carried in to the Houses.

"I will come," she said, "but the moment you look pale or seem faint we are coming back inside and you are getting straight back into bed."

He chuckled.

"So fierce," he said, lifting a hand and lightly brushing a wisp of hair from her face. "And if I do not do as you command?"

"Then you will be as any other of my patients," she pulled away from him teasingly. "In trouble."

* * *

Once they were outside in the gardens a far more sombre mood took them. On the short walk there Faramir had realised he was not yet as recovered as he had hoped - Keren had had to take his arm to support him as he walked down the shallow steps to the path behind the low walls.

They were not alone, as both had hoped they would be. Two small figures were leaning their elbows on the wall, the shorter one only just able to see over the top. Keren recognised Bergil, and could only assume that the second person was the other hobbit, Meriadoc.

Both turned as they became aware of the soft, slow tread of the couple. Bergil looked surprised and a little scared.

"Lord Faramir," he said quickly, and bowed low.

Faramir bid him stand, and asked for no explanation as to his presence there.

Keren looked over at the hobbit – he still looked tired, but other than the dark circles under his eyes she would not have known, had Ioreth and Palen not told her, the trials he had been through. He was fair like Pippin, though chubbier-cheeked. His eyes seemed merry, as if it would not take much to send him into fits of laughter, despite all he had experienced. And then she remembered that the elf had called him Merry, which seemed an apt shortening of his name.

"Bergil," Keren said, "are you going to introduce us?" She looked pointedly from him to the hobbit.

"Oh," said Bergil. "Er, this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, a perian of the Shire. Merry, this is Keren, a friend to me and my father. And the noble lord is Faramir, son of Denethor."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, master Meriadoc," said Faramir with a smile. He made no mention to Merry of the other hobbits he had seen, which Keren wondered at, but then she realised that perhaps he did not want to give the hobbit false hope of his friends.

"My lord." The hobbit bowed low and straight. "My lady," he added to Keren.

"Oh, just Keren," she said quickly. "I'm a healer here. My sister is Palen, I believe she has had the care of you?"

"You're Pal's sister?" he said, and the smile that came to her face made her heart sing. She had not realised how close this hobbit had become to her sister, and she wondered why Palen had not shared this friendship with her. She nodded.

"Do you mind if we stand with you?" Faramir asked them. "I imagine we are all here for similar reasons."

"That we can't go to fight you mean?" The hobbit's face was suddenly serious and his voice sad. "That we must stay behind while our friend's get to face the enemy?"

"I mean exactly that," Faramir replied. "For I am assuming I am not alone in being told I am not strong enough for the battle to come."

The hobbit's eyes widened in surprise.

"By the King's command?" Faramir continued.

"Aye," said Merry. "Just last night I was told I was not fit for the journey. And many other dark words were spoken."

"Then I will say to you what I have said to Lord Faramir," Keren said quietly to him. "You have already shown great bravery, and from all I have heard, earned great honour."

"Yes, that was said last night as well," the hobbit admitted. "And the one who said it was a friend."

"I know I'm too young to fight," said Bergil, "but I want to watch my father go to war."

Keren reached an arm around his shoulders and went to the wall at his side.

"I too would see my friend Beregond go to fight," she said.

"Then let us all watch together," said Faramir, and he took his place at Keren's side.

The sight that met their eyes was worryingly not as impressive as they had hoped. It was surprising how small an army of seven thousand looked on the great plains of the Pelennor.

The vast majority of the men had been amassing over night, but there was a small group still to come from the citadel, Merry explained.

"For that is where my companions, and some great lords, have been staying," he said. "They will pass down through the streets of the city before joining the host on the Pelennor. Then once they are in place at the front of the company, all will begin the march. Pippin said they were to set out just after sunrise, so they should be along soon. We'll be able to see them pass through the fifth circle from here. Should get quite a good view in fact." He tried to sound cheerful, and Keren's heart constricted for him. "We won't see Strider of course; he has said he will not enter the city again until he is crowned. But Gandalf should pass by, with the Lord Eomer and Prince Imrahil. And my friends, Legolas and Gimli. And Pippin, who I will miss the most. I've told him to look up here to me as they pass below."

Keren worked hard to keep her face still as she heard the elf's name. So she would be seeing him again. And a dwarf, by the sounds of it.

They stood silently watching as the troops fell into formation on the plains close to the city walls, but soon a sight closer to hand drew their attention away.

A white rider on a white horse with no saddle came at a steady pace down the sloping street, one hundred feet below the walls where they stood. The wizard. Grim he looked, and tired. He held the reins in his left hand, whilst his right bore his staff, which he wielded as a weapon rather than a prop. Keren wondered what it was capable of. Behind him, and looking far too small on the giant horse, was Pippin, dressed as a soldier of Minas Tirith, except with his large feet bare. Keren had not noticed before just how hairy hobbit feet were.

Behind them came another white stallion, this one saddled, but with another mismatched pair on its back.

Holding the reins was the elf, sat straight and tall. More of flesh and blood he seemed now in the daylight, but his hair was a strange shade of silver blonde, one that Keren had never seen before. He wore it as he had at their meeting, braided back from his face, although now she could see the more intricate braid on the back of his head. The rest lay long over his shoulders. He was dressed as she had thought he was the other night. Next to his skin was a silver shirt, but today he wore brown leather bracers on his forearms. His outer clothes were all in shades of green – moss for his tunic, forest for his hose, a shade so dark it was almost black for his boots, and she could not begin to describe the colour of his cloak. He shifted in the saddle and all suddenly appeared brown, then, at another movement, grey, then back to green again.

 _Is this Elvish magic,_ Keren wondered, _or just a trick of the light?_

She grimaced and decided it was probably the former, adding to her list of all that was strange about him.

On his back was a quiver filled with arrows, two crossed knives and an enormous bow. Keren could not imagine the strength that would be required to draw it back.

Behind him, sat awkwardly on the rear of the saddle, was what had to be Gimli the dwarf. A huge red beard bristled out and down from his face, which was mostly obscured by a large helmet. His feet were not in stirrups as his legs were obviously too short – she put him as smaller even than her, and she was only a little over five feet. An odd and rather funny figure he looked next to the graceful elf, but Keren knew that to have got this far on their journey the dwarf must be a skilled warrior.

Keren wondered to see an elf and a dwarf so close, as she had thought their races did not tolerate each other, but then she remembered that the elf had said they were friends.

Behind their horse came King Eomer atop a grey mount with a braided mane, which seemed dissatisfied with the slow pace the group were taking. Next to him was Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, on his faithful steed that had carried Faramir home, near dead, from Osgiliath.

Finally came two black horses, each carrying a strange person which, out of the small group watching on the walls, only Merry had seen before.

Keren, after that night in the gardens, recognised an elf when she saw one, and now she was seeing two. For a minute she could not help but think that she was seeing double. So alike were they, that it was said most men could not tell the difference unless they knew them well, so Keren had no chance. They were very different from Legolas – with dark brown hair, solemn faces and thin silver circlets resting on their brows. Unlike the Mirkwood elf they wore armour, although they even managed to make that look ethereally beautiful. Keren, using her very basic knowledge, assumed that these had to be a different kind of elf to Legolas. Their faces were as handsome as his, but prouder, sadder, and they were perhaps even slightly taller, seeming more powerfully built.

"Who are they?" she had whispered without realising.

"The Lords Elladan and Elrohir." Merry supplied her quietly with the answer. "The sons of Elrond, the half-elven Lord of Rivendell."

Keren quietly digested the fact that she was looking at two figures that she had only seen in her imagination before, whilst listening to her mother's tales.

"Legends walk among us," said Faramir, and she shared his wonder.

They watched the strange gathering of folk move slowly through the streets, until they reached the spot directly below the walls where the little group stood in the gardens.

Pippin, as he had promised, looked up and met Merry's gaze. The wizard stopped the horse that bore him and the hobbit, in order for him to look upon his friend at their final moment of parting, perhaps forever. The others in the group respectfully drew their horses to a halt behind.

The look that passed between the two friends Keren felt uncomfortable witnessing – it was such a private moment that she looked away out of respect, and found her eyes going straight to the elf.

He was looking right back at her, his fair face showing surprise to see her there.

She quickly looked elsewhere, anywhere, and met the stern gaze of the wizard, who's glance drifted over her and Faramir stood so closely together, a slight frown on his face.

Pippin raised a small hand in farewell to his friend, which Merry returned. Then, to everyone's amazement, but especially to Meriadoc of the Shire, all the company below, even the two elves of Rivendell, followed suit and raised their left hands to him, then bowed their heads.

"I don't understand," muttered Merry.

"I believe I do, master hobbit," said Faramir. "They are saluting you, for your hand in defeating the Witch King."

The four of them watched as the group raised their heads again, all of them looking to Merry, their expressions ranging from detached respect from the elves at the back, to anguish from Pippin. The wizard clicked to his horse to walk on, and those behind followed and began to move on. Pippin's face was turned back to his friend until the last possible moment, until the circle of the path through the city finally took the two hobbits from each other's sight. Only once before had they been parted, and this time there was even less certainty of them meeting again.

Keren watched as the group passed underneath, and try as she might she could not miss the swift look and parting nod in her direction from the elf. She felt Faramir shift beside her as he noticed the same thing. Soon he was gone however, and she subconsciously inched closer to Faramir.

Bergil had been silent for some time, and Keren felt sorry for him that his father had not passed below. Beregond would already be on the field at the head of his company. The final soldiers falling into place on the Pelennor, it would not now be long until the small group from the citadel joined them.

No one amongst the four watching from the gardens spoke to fill the silence, each lost in their own thoughts. No one asked if another was alright, or pretended that all was well.

At last they heard the trumpets ring, and the army way below them began to move. It was near impossible to spot their friends amongst the huge crowd of men, but Bergil saw his father clearly, the hobbit Pippin now on his horse behind him, as he was alone at the front of his company. He sniffed – wordlessly Keren put a hand on his shoulder.

Faramir could not distinguish one man from another – his eyes and mind were tired and his vision, although he would never admit it, he knew would be a little blurry until he fully recovered. But grimly he stood, wishing with all his heart that he was among them riding with his King before him, whatever the outcome may be.

Keren watched the slowly advancing army with strange feelings. Her father had come to the Houses late the night before, telling her and Palen that he was to march. Not much else was said, and not many tears were shed.

 _He could be anywhere in that crowd,_ Keren thought. _Literally. My father is a stranger to me._

She could not point out the moment in time when he had begun to be distant with her. Perhaps he had always been, but she first noticed it after her mother had died. Palen would go fairly regularly to visit him, but Keren – wrongly, she admitted – only made the time to go about once a month. Her visits never seemed particularly welcome, and they had so little in common that any conversation soon ran dry. When she was younger she had questioned whether this surly, uncommunicative man was really her true father, but as she had matured there was no denying it was his dark eyes that looked out of her face, and his nose that sat, rather prominently from certain angles, below them.

It was not that she did not care if he lived or died – he was her father and she would always, she knew, go to him if he needed her. But he did not seem to need her, or even want her as a daughter. He was an independent man, running a business, and he had no time for young daughters, particularly ones foolish enough to not bother finding a husband, and choosing to cut people open for a living.

 _He will never understand me,_ she thought. _But standing with me now is one who could._

She looked up at Faramir and, noticing the strange, sad far-away look on his face, moved her little finger an inch to the left so it was gently touching his hand. He looked down at her then, and while neither could bring themselves to smile, an understanding grew between them. Together they looked back across the fields.

The army was moving slowly, and Elessar's company, in the very centre of the formation, came into view as they progressed north-east from the gates of the city. At the front was the wizard, clearly visible in his white cloak upon his white horse, shining in the sun, and either side of him the two elven lords from Rivendell, looking incongruous amongst all the roughly dressed soldiers. Around them were a group of about thirty dark haired men, all on horseback, which was all Keren could distinguish – there was no knowing which one was Elessar himself.

But two riders, both on the same white horse and both wearing their strange shifting-coloured cloaks, stood out amongst them. One, a battle-axe on his back, was at least a foot smaller than any other, but the one in front of him sat tall and graceful in the saddle, his silver-blonde hair flying behind.

* * *

Keren bid Faramir goodnight early that evening. They had sat for a little while in the afternoon together, but she could see he was exhausted so encouraged him, a little awkwardly, into bed. His eyes were closing even as he went to take her hand, and she wished him a long and restful sleep.

She went to check on the Lady Eowyn before going to the wards. The Lady usually rose, and subsequently retired, early, but Keren thought she would put her head around the door to see that all was well.

She was surprised therefore that Eowyn was still awake, although not so surprised to see her looking sad.

"My lady?" she asked. "What ails you?"

The lady jumped as Keren's voice invaded her thoughts.

"Nothing you can heal, I fear," Eowyn said quietly. "My heart is uneasy, and sleep and rest does not cure it."

"Why are you uneasy, my lady?" Keren asked carefully. She had not shared many words with the white lady of Rohan, and what ones she had were often terse.

"Your sister tells me you watched the men leave today," she said suddenly. "I would have you tell me all you saw."

"My lady?"

"My window does not face east, and I am told I am not yet strong enough to rise, so I could not see hi – I could not see them leave," she explained.

Keren noticed Eowyn's slip, and wondered why she was so reluctant to admit that she missed bidding a final farewell to her brother.

 _Unless there is another 'him',_ Keren realised. _Does the cold, white lady harbour a secret love?_

It had not occurred to her before that this was likely. She was after all a little old, especially by royal standards, to be unmarried. Keren wondered who she may have given her heart to, and if he returned the sentiment, then chided herself for allowing her thoughts to go on such a tangent when all the lady had done was utter a syllable out of place.

She began to tell Eowyn the events she had witnessed from the walls. She mentioned the lady's friend Merry, telling her he was well but sad to be missing out, and Eowyn grimaced in sympathy. When she reached the part when Merry was honoured, she watched as the lady's grey eyes filled with tears, and Keren judged them to be tears of jealousy, mingled with pride.

"Merry has one of the bravest hearts I have ever encountered," she said quietly. "It is only right that he is honoured. He saved my life, and enabled me to – to…"

The lady went silent. Keren knew where her thoughts had turned. She remembered clearly the terrible scream that had shot through her heart at the moment when Eowyn had killed the Witch King. She knew she could not have even stood before him, let alone have the courage to fight, but then she was far from being a shieldmaiden of Rohan.

"To commit your own brave deed, my lady," she provided.

"As was foreseen," Eowyn said cryptically.

"And you will be honoured in your turn," Keren ignored the strange remark, "when you are returned to health."

Eowyn nodded, but still did not smile.

Keren continued her description of the morning, and the lady listened with rapt attention.

"Did you see the Lord Aragorn ride out?" she asked rather quickly, as Keren reached the end of her tale. Her eyes held a strange look.

"If you mean the man that is now calling himself Elessar then no," Keren replied. "He was amongst a group of men that all looked very similar, and he wore no distinguishing armour or clothing that I could see."

Eowyn looked disappointed.

"I had hoped…" She cut herself off, then decided to proceed. "I had hoped that he would ride with pride, in a place of honour, where all could see him."

"You know him my lady?" Keren asked.

"He came to my uncle's hall with his companions," she explained. "They travelled with us for a time, fought for us at Helm's Deep. He is a great man, one of the Dúnedain, the rangers from the North."

Keren was not sure if the lady knew of Elessar's claim to kingship, but she did know that Eowyn was not telling her all.

 _And why should she?_ Keren asked herself. _She barely knows me, and I am hardly her equal._

Eowyn asked her no more questions, and suddenly looked tired, as if she had been forcing herself to stay awake to hear some news. Keren left her to sleep.

Eowyn sighed and turned her head to the east, willing her eyes to see through the stone, all the way to the Black Gate, and to Aragorn.

* * *

The next morning brought Keren and Palen a day off. They spent most of it together, taking comfort in each other's familiar company, but Keren was concerned to see that Palen's smile never reached her eyes. Not once did she ask her how Faramir was progressing, or begin to broach the topic of Keren's tentative steps towards a friendship with him. Nor did Keren find herself willing to provide this information when it was clearly unlooked for, so they spent the hours in easy familiar territory. They went down into the lower levels of the city, and gloomily looked around at the damage that the siege had caused. They planned to visit their favourite inn on Lampwrights' Street down in the first level, but could not even get close – the damage around the destroyed great gate meant that whole buildings had fallen. They were reassured that The Old Guesthouse was still standing, but was not safe to access. They had dinner instead in a poorer inn, close to Palen and Dannor's house in the fourth level. Palen did not wish to spend the night in their house without Dannor, so she went with Keren back up to the Houses, and quickly retired to bed.

Keren hastily checked her appearance in the mirror – it was so nice to not be in her dull uniform, and she had made the most of it, donning a simple but flattering bodice and skirt over a shift with flowing sleeves. She wore the earrings and necklace Palen and Dannor had bought her as a bridesmaid gift the year before. She and Pal had spent much of the morning styling each other's hair, enjoying the simple pleasure of mild vanity. Keren tried and failed to convince herself that it was to make her feel good, not in any way for Faramir's benefit. With that thought in mind, and with Palen asleep, she went to his room.

Faramir did a double take as Keren came through the door. Her hair, rather than hidden by a white scarf or down her back in tangles, was styled into loose twists which were gathered up at the back of her neck, and she wore dusky pink rather than the faded dark blue he had become accustomed to seeing her in. Simple and small jewellery glittered at her ears and her neck.

"Good evening," she said smiling, with the confidence of one who knows she looked well, and went to join him on the window-seat.

"You look nice," he said simply.

"Do you like my hair?" she asked while she had the nerve. "It took Palen an hour."

"Very nice." He smiled. "What is the occasion?"

"A whole day off! Finally."

"So eager to get away from me?" he teased her.

"So much that I have come to see one of my patients on an evening off," she said sarcastically. "How are you?"

"Better," he said. "Tomorrow I wish to go to the gardens again, perhaps stretch my legs a little more. And I want the warden to get his room back."

She nodded in agreement, and they fell into easy conversation.

The candle grew low as neither noticed the time passing, and it was only when it started to sputter that they realised how late it must be. Faramir, having no desire for her to leave just yet, replaced the candle, and they sat a little closer than before.

Keren stole a glance at their reflection in the window, lit only by candlelight, and rejoiced in it as she watched his hand take hers where it lay in her lap.

"Such little time since we met," he said, "and so little do we know of one another."

Keren was silent, wondering where his words were heading. She held her breath.

"You have told me you love me, and I have not asked you again why or how," he went on. "Nor shall I, as you have told me you do not wish to say. But I believe you, for I saw it in your face that day – I see it every time you look at me."

Keren cringed.

"I cannot tell you what you want to hear," he said softly, and Keren in her mind's eye saw her heart drop to the floor in a congealed splatter. "It has been but days since I met you, I – I cannot love so quickly. But I – "

Keren rose hastily, mortified beyond belief.

 _This is not the plan_ , she thought angrily, directing it towards the crystal which was even now in her pocket. _You have made me shame myself._

"Please don't go on," she said, turning back to him after she had almost made it to the door. He stood silent in the gentle glow of the candle, the rest of the room now in darkness. "I understand. I will arrange for someone else to come to you tomorrow, so things will not be – "

"Wait, Keren, wait!" he interrupted her, and the sight of him trying not to laugh made her furious.

He closed the distance between them in a few strides.

"I had not finished," he said.

She looked up at him, the closest he had ever been to her, in the near darkness.

He gently took her hand and, to her amazement, placed it on his heart, serious once more.

"It is true I am not a hasty man, and I will not give you false promises or empty words," he said, "but know that I meant what I said the other day – something in your spirit called to mine when I saw you for the first time. It was your face I saw as I rode into battle. And then you were there when I awoke, and have been ever since. I do not understand it, and I'm not sure I wish to, but I feel as if you speak truth, and that you have been brought to me for some purpose. And if that purpose is simply to make you happy by loving you in return, then, given time, I do not think I will find that difficult."

Keren took a long time to absorb exactly what he had just said. Had he really said that he could grow to love her?

"Please say something," he said, and she realised she must have stood staring into the distance for a little too long.

"Something," she said with a little laugh.

The smile that grew between them was magical, and he looked at her with such tenderness that without thinking she brought her hand to his face, immediately regretting it as he blinked in surprise.

But then, after a moment of stillness, his hand slid around her waist and pulled her closer so she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

 _He is as tall as the elf,_ her mind conjured up out of nowhere, but she was quickly brought back to the moment as she watched Faramir's face draw ever closer _._

When his lips were but an inch away from her mouth she pulled back, surprising herself.

"No," she breathed, although her hand still rested on his chest.

He looked down at her, confused.

"One day you will want to kiss me because you love me, not to see if maybe you could," she said, "and I am happy to wait until then; I will not use whore's tricks to try and… persuade you," she added limply.

"I wanted to kiss you because of all you have said and done for me. I want to try to give you some happiness, and yes, to see if there could be something between us," he said, "And I know you are no whore."

"Still, I will not take from you what you cannot yet give." She removed her hand from his heart, which she had felt beating strongly beneath her palm. "But I can wait," she shrugged. "I've waited nine years, a bit more won't hurt."

"Nine years?" he wondered.

"It is a long and strange tale," she said. "And one day I promise I will tell it to you and explain all. But for now I want you to love me on your own terms, not mine."

Faramir was taken aback by Keren's words. There was something strange at work, and yet she was so ordinary, so simple, wonderfully so. He was already half way to falling in her love with her, purely because of the strangeness surrounding her. If he had not felt it himself by the gate then he would have said she was a little mad, but as it was he knew there was a lot more to her than she was allowing him to see, and that drew him to her inexplicably.

He nodded at her sage words, and they both knew that all would continue as before.

They parted with this agreement and wished each other a good night.

* * *

Back in her bed, Keren could not believe what she had just done.

 _If anytime was your chance, that was it!_ she chided herself. _He was going to_ kiss you. _You've been dreaming of that since you were fourteen!_

She could not explain why she had said no. Nor could she remember the words that had fallen from her lips shortly afterwards, when they could have been far more interestingly occupied.

And yet… The timing had seemed off somehow.

She reached for the crystal but then thought better of it. After being so close to actually kissing Faramir the whole thing felt childish and mildly embarrassing.

 _Perhaps I'm tired of being told what to do by a lump of rock,_ she thought sleepily.

But as she slept, her hand closed tightly around it, and a warm light shone around her.


	8. Chapter Eight - The White Lady

**Author note: Wooh I have wifi! Bit of a lazy day so have time to upload the chapter I finished before I went away. Thanks marie potter riddle for the fav :)**

 **saraestelz- Thank you so much for your really lovely review! It gave me a massive confidence boost. I really hope you enjoy where the story goes.**

 **jshaw0624 - It is so great to see your reviews come in after every chapter, I really really appreciate it! I love Faramir and Eowyn too - a good power couple lol. But Keren is infatuated, and Eowyn is pining after Aragorn, so we'll see how it plays out. Legolas is very much going to be around in this story, he's just busy at the moment helping to save the world and all that...**

 **As you can see I love reading reviews and I will always reply if you take the time to write one. So please don't be shy, I like to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong!**

 **But enough of my babbling, here comes Eowyn, and she is pissed off! Faramir to the rescue? Have to say a couple of small bits in this chapter are straight from the book, so that is Tolkien's stuff, definitely not mine! X**

 ***Edit* A lot of mistakes in this chapter due to working on iPad not computer, have edited and republished.**

* * *

 **Chapter eight - The White Lady**

News came to the city early the next day that the army had safely reached the Morgul Vale. Keren was one of the first to hear, as she had been at Faramir's side when the tidings were brought straight to him. She was not entirely sure where the Morgul Vale was, and could not bring to mind any real sense of scale as to how far away it lay. She did not know if it meant they were close to their final destination, or whether they still had many leagues to go. Dannor she knew, marching on foot, would be suffering more than the folk on horseback, but all she could do was hope that he stayed uncomfortable, as it meant he was still alive. She worried for Pippin also, despite barely sharing two words with him. Surely one so small had no chance, other than to be a burden to those that had to protect him, like Beregond.

 _Oh, Beregond_ , she thought sadly. _Stay safe_.

Then there was her new, and strangest, acquaintance. She had not really thought of elves dying before, although she knew that they could. It was an odd thought that he might not return. She was thankful therefore that she had spoken with him, and she was grateful for all he had told her, despite her rather uncomfortable memories of their meeting. She still puzzled over his description of her as an elf-friend, but had come to terms with the fact that she would probably never find out what he meant. Besides, there were far more important things for her to be thinking about.

There was now a little awkwardness between her and Faramir after the events of the night before, but both strove valiantly to ignore it.

That morning she helped him move to another private room within the Houses, smaller but more finely decorated, and the warden finally got his room back.

Once they were alone together in the new space, Faramir spoke.

"When exactly am I allowed to hear of my father's death?" he said. It had been preying on his mind, and he could not see why he was not permitted to know. "I am well enough now to hear such tidings."

Keren hesitated before she explained.

"Lord Elessar commanded the warden, and therefore any of us, not to tell you until you were fit to take on your duties as steward, and I'm afraid that time is still far off."

"But why must I wait?" he asked.

"He wished you to have things to occupy your mind with. Otherwise you will dwell on the tale."

"But surely you can see that not knowing what actually happened is making me dwell on all the possibilities of what could have befallen him?" he said, his hands clenching together as he knelt forwards in his chair. "In my mind I have seen him stabbed, or drowned, or burned, or collapsing in agony. Please, Keren."

"My lord, I – " Keren felt so sorry for him, but was afraid to break her word. She had shivered when he had unknowingly named the manner of his father's death. "Faramir," she corrected herself. "Were you close to your father?"

He looked sharply at her.

"All in this city know I was not. But that does not mean I do not grieve at his passing. He was a fine steward, and he loved my mother."

"Do you remember her?" Keren wondered. She felt guilty for trying to distract him from their current topic, but was also curious as to what he could remember of the Lady Finduilas, sister to Prince Imrahil.

"She died when I was five," he said quietly. "After my birth she… became ill, and never truly recovered. I am told many women suffer sadness after childbirth but this, whatever she had, I am sure was what eventually killed her. I believe it began when father became the steward and she had to remain in the city. She was not used to living away from the sea shore where she had spent all her life, and her heart began to fail. But my father blamed me for her illness, and she was left to raise me alone, while he gave all his time and love to my brother. He wanted nothing to do with me. When she died I knew he held me responsible, and he has never forgiven me. And now it is too late for him to do so."

There was a small silence. Still and stony-eyed he remained, looking unerringly like his father in fact, although he could not know this. There was no emotion in his voice as he had spoken, for the old wounds long buried deep had lost their potency. Keren wanted so much to take his hand, but was uncertain after the night before how to proceed.

"I believe my father feels the same about me," she said eventually, perhaps only realising it herself for the first time. "My mother was with us a little longer – she died when I was eleven – but she was never the same after I was born, according to him. I of course did not know any different. But when she died she seemed happy to be leaving, as if life was too sad for her to bear."

Both felt as if they had shared just enough, and Faramir, no longer wanting to speak of his father, stood and stretched.

"I believe I will go for a walk in the gardens," he said. "Will you join me?"

"I wish I could," she said, "but it must be past ten, and I am supposed to go to the Lady Éowyn this morning. Although perhaps my sister could go…"

"Who is the Lady Éowyn?" Faramir asked.

Keren blinked in surprise.

 _Of course he would not know she was here_ , she realised. _Or who she was. My care of them has been quite separate_.

"She is the sister of the new King of Rohan," Keren explained. "Her uncle, the old King, lies dead within the citadel, slain in battle. She is in mine and Palen's care, for she was wounded on the Pelennor fields."

"She fought?" Faramir wondered.

"Very bravely by all accounts," Keren said, but then stopped herself from telling more of the tale. For some reason she did not want Faramir to know too much of the beautiful white lady.

 _Which is utterly ridiculous_ , she chided herself, _and for that you will go to her, you paranoid idiot_.

"I should really go to her…" she tailed off.

Faramir smiled.

"Very well, do your duties," he said. "I am sure I will survive a walk in the gardens. But come and find me afterwards. Some time alone is good, but too long and my mind turns inwards, to things I would rather not think of. You are keeping me sane, I think."

She smiled and nodded, turning to leave. He touched her hand briefly in passing, and she tried not to let the joy show too openly on her face. Both were relieved that they had got through a whole morning with no mention from either of what had almost happened between them the day before. As the closing door parted them from each other they knew that whatever it was between them was still just as strong – strange as it seemed to both, they knew they had been brought together at this time for a reason.

* * *

Keren knocked on the door to Éowyn's room and then softly entered.

Today the lady was stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself, for she must have been cold still dressed in naught but her nightshift.

"Good morning my lady," Keren said. "Shall I fetch you a shawl to keep you warm?"

Éowyn turned sharply to face her, her face paler than ever. She was slightly short of breath, and Keren deduced that prior to her entering she had been pacing the room.

"You can fetch me some proper clothes," Éowyn said. "I mean to leave this room today, I am going mad."

"Nay, my lady, I do not think that is wise," Keren said.

"You say no to me?" Éowyn replied. She did not have to say 'don't you know who I am', but it was heavily implied. "I am not asking you, I am telling you, I have to get up or my mind will turn!"

Keren was shocked. Finally something other than cold passivity from the famed shieldmaiden of Rohan.

"I understand that, my lady," Keren began, "but I cannot allow – "

"No, you do not understand," Éowyn interrupted. "I have to get out of here. This room is a cage, and you and your sister come and brighten it for a while, but nearly always I am alone. When I am awake I remember things I do not wish to remember. And when I sleep, for there is not much else to do, I dream of them. I long to talk to people. I want fresh air, and to see the mountains. I – I cannot…"

Keren stood amazed. She had had no idea how much her short visits had come to mean to the lady, and she felt selfish about how much time she had spent with Faramir over her, despite it being at his request.

Éowyn gathered her breath, grimacing as she held her broken left arm close to her after trying to gesticulate with it just now.

"Please," she begged Keren. "I will not be gainsaid in this."

So wild was the look in her eye, and so desperate was her voice, that Keren genuinely feared the lady would make herself more ill in her distress.

"Alright," she said. "But you cannot go far, you are too weak and your arm is still not healed enough for my liking. I suppose if I put it in a sling you may go for a short walk. I will bring you a gown to wear. It won't be anything like what you are used to wearing I am sure, my lady."

"I do not care," Éowyn said. "For the eight days prior to waking here I wore armour, which suits me as well as any fine gown."

"Well neither armour or a fine gown can I bring you, nor do we have much at all in the way of clothes. Now you are… er, more alert, I will send for a seamstress in the city to come and take your measurements for some new gowns. But for now one of my sister's simple gowns will have to do. You and she are of a height, although it may be a little short."

Éowyn waved her good arm as if to say she would be happy dressing in a sack as long as it meant escaping her room. Keren left swiftly.

Palen was with Merry, so had no say in the clothes she unwittingly lent the White Lady of Rohan. Keren, feeling inclined towards the dramatic, decided that a white gown, emphasising her unofficial title, would be fitting for the lady's first day out of bed. Palen did not quite have a white gown, but she did have a plain white kirtle which could easily be worn over a clean shift. Keren realised she had forgotten to ask Éowyn her shoe size.

 _Well she will just have to go barefoot until her next venture outside her room_ , Keren judged. _It's not like she will be going outside, or too far_.

The kirtle, as it turned out, gaped a little around the chest, even when laced tightly, and Éowyn's long legs meant it allowed her bare feet to be seen. Éowyn tutted and awkwardly tried to pull on the boots she had worn in battle with one hand. Keren knelt to help her, and then proceeded to put her broken arm in a sling so she would not be tempted to try and wave it around wildly as she had before. She slipped a shawl over the lady's shoulders, to disguise the fact that the kirtle was too large.

"And now what is your plan?" Keren asked Éowyn. The lady had sat down on the edge of her bed, looking tired from her efforts already. "I cannot allow you to go far."

Éoywn looked determinedly up at her.

"You will take me to the warden," she said, "and I will tell him I wish to leave this place."

Keren, knowing that Éowyn would not be argued with, nodded and helped her to rise. But she knew that the warden would not permit the lady to leave, and, given his habit of following directions to the letter, would lock her in her room if she threatened to do so. This was, in Keren's eyes, the word of the future King they were obeying after all, and she knew the warden respected Elessar's commands after witnessing his miraculous healing.

Together they went down the corridor, the White Lady's long strides, despite her weary state, meaning Keren had to do an awkward half-run just to keep up with her. She knocked on the door to the warden's office, and the two women entered, one far more confident of the other in how the meeting was to play out.

"The Lady Éowyn has risen and wishes to speak with you sir." Keren felt as if she was stating the obvious. "Shall I wait outside?"

"Yes, Keren, please," the warden said, doing well to cover his surprise at seeing the lady out of her bed.

Keren retreated quietly and stood outside. A week ago, she realised, she had clung to this very door as she heard the news that Faramir had been struck with a poisoned arrow.

 _How long ago it seems_ , she thought, _and how much has happened since then!_

She stood as she had then, her ear now not quite as obviously pressed to the door. If anyone passed by they would simply see her appearing bored at having to wait for the warden's attention.

 _Really I have become too good at this_.

As it turned out the lady's high and passionate voice carried out into the corridor for anyone to hear.

"Sir," Keren heard. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."

"Lady," the warden answered," you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back."

Keren grimaced. She knew Éowyn would not take kindly to hearing the same information she herself had given, and this time more firmly repeated.

"I am healed," Éowyn said, "healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease."

Liar, Keren thought, but strangely felt respect for the lady's bravado.

"But I shall sicken anew," she went on, "if there is naught that I can do. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing."

Keren frowned. She did in fact have news of the army, but Eowyn had not thought to ask her, nor had Keren thought to share. It seemed they little knew what to expect from each other.

"There are no tidings," said the warden, "save that the lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."

Keren was surprised to hear the warden speak at such length. He was usually a man of few words, and they were usually orders. If he was hoping to distract the lady from her request it did not work, in fact it seemed to make her more riled.

"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter."

Keren raised her eyebrows.

I think she might be more than a little mad, she thought. Or perhaps I am just a coward for not wanting to die. But I suppose she is right, we might all be dead in a few days, and it would be best to go bravely.

The warden appeared to have no answer, and Keren heard him sigh heavily.

"Is there no deed to do?" Éowyn's voice again. "Who commands in this City?"

"I do not rightly know." The warden sounded a little lost. Keren did not think he would have ever had a woman speak to him so abruptly before. "Such things are not my care. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."

 _No!_ Keren thought immediately. _Do not bother him with this now, he is healing himself_.

"Where can I find him?" Éowyn's voice grew louder in hope and frustration.

"In this house, lady," the warden said, causing Keren to huff with annoyance. "He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know – "

"Will you not bring me to him?" Éowyn interrupted sharply. "Then you will know."

The door opened quickly, and a harassed looking warden caught Keren's gaze.

"Is the Lord Faramir in his room?" he asked her quickly.

"He is probably still in the gardens," she said regretfully.

Éowyn swept past her, and gave her a look that bade her follow. Something about it made Keren think that she was not quite as comfortable as she appeared giving orders to the warden, and in a few moments time, to the steward.

 _Does she want me there for support?_ Keren wondered. _Little use I will be to her. I think, like everyone else, that she should go back to bed._

The warden led Éowyn to the gardens, Keren following quickly behind, and there the three of them beheld Faramir standing alone by the walls, looking towards the East.

"My lord Faramir," the warden said gently so as not to make him start.

Faramir slowly turned his face from where Mordor lay, expecting to be told to go back inside and rest. He saw Keren just off the warden's shoulder in her familiar healer's garb, but standing next to her was a woman unknown to him, with long straw coloured hair flowing down to her waist. She was wearing men's boots, and a rough brown shawl over her shoulders. She was pale, and the sling around her left arm showed that she was clearly injured. Taller than Keren by over half a foot, he could not deny that the lady drew his attention from her briefly. He had never seen a maiden so solemn and sad, but with, it seemed to him, the rather desperate air of a caged bird fluttering on the brink of freedom. She stood still and graceful, but he could see the wild look in her eyes, and the quick rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to contain her breathing. She also happened to be the fairest woman he had ever laid eyes on, and felt guilty for thinking this as Keren stood so close by, but then felt pleasantly surprised that he was so loyal to the young girl already.

 _She has more of a hold on me than I had thought_ , he realised. _There is something about her that is hidden from me, and I mean to find out what._

"My lord," said the warden, "here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan."

Faramir gave a quick look to Keren with recognition at the name, then bowed deeply to the lady.

"She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping," the warden went on. "But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."

Neither Éowyn nor Keren cared for the apologetic tone he had put into his voice, as if the lady was a naughty child being completely unreasonable.

 _Perhaps I could support her after all_ , Keren thought wryly.

"Do not misunderstand him, lord," said Éowyn. "It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on."

Immediately felt great pity for the lady rise in his heart, although he thought that was something he ought not to tell her. With a small gesture of his hand he ordered the warden to depart, then with a far longer look, silently bid Keren to go. He knew it would hurt her to be dismissed, and he of course did not wish for her to leave his side, but he felt that the lady deserved privacy – she was the niece of a king and deserved respect from him and all others.

Keren had to stop her lips from parting in disbelief. Never had he sent her from his side before. She had always been the one to leave, and that was always with a promise to return. His gaze, though, was apologetic.

 _The quicker I have dealt with this_ , he thought, hoping she would understand, _the quicker we can be alone_.

She gave a quick courtesy, turned quickly and walked back to the Houses, unable to keep a feeling of unease from building in her heart.

"What would you have me do, lady?" she heard him ask Éowyn as she walked away. "I also am a prisoner of the healers."

She almost stopped dead at that comment.

He could not have meant it, surely?

Did he see her as a guard of some sort, always watching over him? Surely he wished to spend time with her, enjoyed their hours together?

 _Or perhaps all this time he was just being kind to me_ , she worried, _and in fact cannot wait to get away. And now he is speaking with the sister of a King._

The rest of the conversation was lost to her as she walked inside.

She felt strangely lost that afternoon. She had no charges to care for, as they were talking with each other. She decided to distract herself by going to the hobbit's room to see him and Palen.

Merry was awake and in fine form, cracking jokes and telling tales of his home and friends. It was a chance for Keren to see the strong friendship that had quickly grown up between the hobbit and her sister. She had not seen Palen laugh so much in a long time, especially as the smallest moment of quiet would prompt her mind to wander to Dannor and their father on their way to the Black Gate. When Keren told her that her old white kirtle was now being worn by the Lady Eowyn she giggled in disbelief. Their fun afternoon was interrupted, however, by none other than Faramir.

"Master Meriadoc," he said as he came confidently into the room. Only Keren with her watchful eyes noticed the sheen of sweat on his brow. Truly he was not healed yet. "I wish to talk with you."

Palen quickly spoke up.

"Do you wish for us to leave my lord?" she asked, throwing a cautious look at Keren.

"I do not, but the Lady Eowyn asked for you to go to her Keren," he said. "She did not say why."

"Then I will go to her, of course, my Lord." Keren tried and failed to hide her disappointment. Her heart was quickly made glad when, in front of the hobbit and her sister, he squeezed her hand. Keren noticed Palen staring at their entwined fingers.

"We shall see each other tomorrow?" he asked.

"If you wish it," Keren said simply.

"Always," Faramir replied. "Mistress Palen, you may stay if you wish."

Palen shook her head awkwardly and muttered something about not wanting to intrude.

"Oh, please stay Pal." This from Merry.

Faramir smiled at the near besotted look the perian threw at Keren's sister.

"Aye, stay – you may be able to answer my questions too," he said. "For you have spent far more time with the subject of them than I."

Keren wondered what questions he was going to ask without her there.

 _Questions about me_? she wondered, and hope rose in her heart.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Palen as she shot her younger sister a look full of baffled disbelief.

With a smile over her shoulder at Pal, Keren left the room.

* * *

When Keren reached Eowyn she had returned to her room and was bravely trying not to look exhausted.

"Faramir said you wished to see me," Keren said, and immediately panicked that she had not used his title. Eowyn seemed not to notice however.

"Yes," Eowyn said wearily, "just to thank you for today."

"Oh," Keren let out, surprised. The lady had thanked her for her care before, but this was the first time she sounded as if she really meant it. "You are welcome my lady, although I do wish you would get into bed now."

Eowyn readily admitted defeat and allowed Keren to removed the kirtle and her boots, before falling onto the layered mattresses.

"Was Lord Faramir of any help?" Keren asked tentatively, knowing that she should really leave the lady to rest.

Eowyn was silent for a moment before replying, and Keren first thought she had fallen asleep already. But then she shifted where she lay so that she could see Keren.

"Yes," Eowyn said, although she still did not smile. "He was kind, and very patient with me. He told me he will instruct the warden that I shall be able to walk in the gardens as and when I wish, so that I can always look to the east when the mood takes me. I do not think he knows what that means to me, for all my hopes lie there, with the one who has command of…"

She cut herself off, and with those few words Keren knew why Eowyn had asked so fervently after Elessar, or Aragorn as she called him, and why she so wanted to know of tidings from the East.

Eowyn looked almost angrily at Keren, as if daring her to comment.

"The Lord Faramir, he is a kind and caring man," Keren said instead, and Eowyn nodded gratefully. "He will do all he can to help you, I am sure of it."

"Yes," she agreed. "He was…most courteous. I can see why all the people of this city trust him so keenly. You know him well?"

Keren knew not how to reply.

"I learn more of him everyday whilst he is in my care," she said carefully,"but I have long known what a great man he is. He had little love from his father, but he now has the love of the whole city."

"He has your love?" Eowyn asked sleepily.

Keren wondered if it was a loaded question, but the lady looked close to sleep, so she decided it was an innocent query.

"Yes, my lady," she said. "I believe all who know him learn to love him." She smiled to herself as she repeated the words of her prophecy.

 _Just none so much as I_ , she thought, as she watched Eowyn drift into sleep.

Eowyn had chosen not to mention that the Lord Faramir had told her she was the fairest woman he had ever seen, nor that he had asked her to meet him again in the gardens, for such things seemed unimportant. Her heart was with Aragorn, and she was blind to all others – she would always choose dreams of her love, perhaps now lost to her forever, over an evening spent with any other man, handsome and noble as the steward of Gondor may have been.

* * *

Faramir retired for the night well aware that he had not spent half as much time with Keren as he, and no doubt she, had hoped that day. He would make up for it tomorrow. But he had felt he had to do his duty by the white lady, and had gone to find out more of her from Merry, so he could understand what had made her so distant and sad. She had cried in front of him, sounding lost and alone, and so cold and serious was she in the face of her unknown fate that he had tried to lighten her mood. Her beauty, for it would have been apparent to anyone who saw her that she was very fair, was all he could think of to compliment her, seeing as he then knew so little of her character. Now after speaking with Merry, who in a short space of time had come to know her well, he felt he understood her desire for renown and recognition, and her fear of pity. Palen also, with her regular care of Eowyn, had been able to tell him of her desire to be looked on as an equal by men, and not to be viewed as a burden by anyone.

He had given her a polite invitation to walk with him in the gardens, for it would be meaningful to him to converse with another who had experienced the fell hand of the Nazgul, and he hoped she would find a certain relief in sharing the topic with one who understood and had survived the same malady. But when he had returned there with Merry in the evening they had found the garden deserted – she had not come, and he was surprised at the disappointment he felt.

He would return there tomorrow morning, he decided. And then, once he had checked to see if Eowyn was well, he would spend the rest of the day with Keren, the only one with whom he felt he could truly be himself.

He dreamt of Keren that night – he saw her as he had that first time, just a face in the crowd by the gate, her dark eyes shining, and that feeling of hope radiating from her. He looked for her green gown, but saw instead that she wore shimmering white, and held in her hand something that produced so bright a light he could not see what it was. When he looked around in surprise, he was faced by two more figures that he had but briefly seen in waking life. Stood to her right was Elessar, his King, crowned now, and with a shining star at his breast. Then Faramir became confused in his dreaming, for where he was sure Keren had stood but moments before was now the White Lady of Rohan, but she was wearing Keren's green gown. The King now stood as if to protect her from him, his sword drawn. To her left, even stranger, stood the blonde elf that he had seen two days ago from the walls, with his longbow ready to be loosed and an arrow pointing straight at Faramir's heart.


	9. Chapter Nine - Joy and despair

**Author note: Guys! I am so so sorry this chapter has been so long in coming! What can I say? Well let's just say that life happened – and for *happened* read *went totally f$%£ing crazy*. There is so much to sort out that this is kind of having to take a backseat for a while, but I am still enjoying writing it, just not as often! Anyhoo I AM back.**

 **Thank you to Rachetg for the fav, and FrlBarth, Zip001, sleepyPrincess, Star Tae, Learnor, AxidentlGoddess, Copycat25 and nina32177 for the follows.**

 **jshaw0624 - Thanks for another lovely review. Oh I do like to keep people guessing re. the dream! It will all make sense further down the line… I'm sure people have an idea of where they think the story is going, but trust me it's not as cut and dry as all that ;)**

 **Rachetg – Thanks so much! I hope you continue to enjoy it. Haha I like both too. So nice of you to review, please keep them coming!**

 **In this chapter, everyone else is really happy, Keren's pretty damn sad. But that was a rubbish title so I went for the much more formal 'joy and despair' instead. ;)**

* * *

Four days passed since news had come from the Morgul Vale, and since Eowyn had risen from her bed. Since then there had been no tidings of the army, and the folk of the city began to lose hope that any would return.

For Keren they had been four days of uncomfortable uncertainty, both for the fate of her friends travelling ever closer to Mordor, and also for letting her mind run away with itself as to what happened every day between Faramir and the Lady Eowyn. For, despite her best efforts, Eowyn had been unable to ignore the steward's kind, unselfish words, and every morning since their first meeting she had walked and talked with him in the gardens.

His afternoons, and often evenings, still belonged to Keren however, and she told herself regularly that she enjoyed her daily visits to him, that those few hours alone with him were all she really lived for. But instead of the joy that usually rose in her heart every time she even caught a glimpse of him, there was now a pang – a pinch of embarrassment and awkwardness – whenever their eyes met.

Now it seemed vaguely plausible that he showed an interest in her the whole thing seemed far more real – less of a childish fantasy, more of a tentative romance that she could easily ruin if she said or did something wrong, which she had to admit was likely.

But then just as she found herself getting carried away with the idea of him falling for her, she would spy him and Eowyn talking closely together and her courage would falter, as she realised just how far removed she was from the noble lady's manner and bearing. The thought of him coming to her immediately after meeting with Eowyn, perhaps comparing his time with both of them, put her in a constantly self-critical mood.

She was conscious that this made her quieter and more withdrawn when she was in his presence, concentrating more on her healing duties rather than talking to him freely as she had at first. She wondered if he'd noticed, or if he cared.

Today was no different. He had asked for her as usual, using the excuse to the warden that he preferred her conversation to the other healers, and there, now expected by both, came that strange surge of energy when they were alone together. But again no mention was made of their near-kiss, or of the slightly stilted atmosphere between them.

 _How long can I hold his interest_ , she wondered, _if my conversation and manner are boring myself let alone him?_

To Keren it seemed that both were afraid to mention any hint of what could be, and yet were longing to.

He never spoke of Eowyn to her, which admittedly had Keren worried. She, however, doubted that she was a regular topic of conversation between him and the white lady.

And yet there was no way of knowing, short of spying on them which she could not bring herself to do, just what they spoke of.

Sometimes when she passed the entrance to the gardens she had seen them sat side by side under the willow tree where she had met the elf, the low branches mostly shielding them from her view. Other times they both stood at the wall, gazing out towards the Black Land. The lady was now always dressed in fine gowns which had been brought to her from the city's seamstresses, who had returned with the rest of the women and children after the siege. They, like Keren, had clearly all agreed that white was her colour. She did look well in it, for it emphasised her paleness and odd fragility, whilst making her golden hair seem to glow.

Faramir also was improving, both in health and in appearance – no longer did he need support when he walked, and his wound caused him less and less pain. His dark hair was shining and healthy once more, and the dark circles under his eyes had faded almost to nothing. His face was even thinner than before, true, and his eyes, unbeknownst to him, had a sometimes haunted look, but he smiled far more frequently, and could walk slowly at ease for hours rather than minutes. The time was approaching when he would be well enough to leave the Houses – a time which Keren both hoped for and dreaded.

 _The fact that he is wasting his last days here walking for hours with her rather than me_ is _a problem_ , she often thought to herself.

She had briefly confided in Palen, who had not had the heart to tell her younger sister that all of the Lord Faramir's much anticipated questions to her and Merry the other day had been not of Keren, but of Eowyn.

Palen was not entirely sure what was going on – she had seen the way he treated her sister with both familiarity and tenderness, but she also knew some details of his conversations with Eowyn, often recounted to her by the lady herself, and guessed that the two noble folk were growing steadily closer.

That evening Faramir asked Keren to dine with him in his room, having secured her the evening off from the warden, who professionally declined to comment on the inappropriateness of the suggestion. She was, of course, overjoyed at the prospect of being in such an intimate situation with him, and curious as to his motives.

The sun had set by the time she had finished her duties and was able to join him. This time the room was lit by far more than a single candle, and it felt warm and welcoming.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said hastily as she almost ran to the chair at his side. "I hope the food is not cold."

"Thoroughly congealed," he said. "But you are worth the wait."

She perched awkwardly on the edge of her chair, unsure how to take such a comment. A decidedly large group of over-sized butterflies threatened to leap from her stomach, but she valiantly controlled them.

Glossing over her silence, Faramir told her to start before the food was completely inedible. Together they sat and ate, sometimes in companionable silence, sometimes laughing and joking. But once the meal was finished the conversation turned serious.

"I think we both know that my time in these Houses is coming to an end," Faramir said gently. "I am almost returned to health. After speaking with the warden he has agreed that in a few days' time I will be able to take up my authority as steward."

Keren swallowed, for her mouth had suddenly gone dry. Only a few more days, and then they would be parted – a bittersweet feeling loomed.

"It has been my pleasure to…help you," she said, knowing that there was far more she could say. "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have returned to health. But I will miss you."

"Ah, Keren, I will miss you too. You have made my time here bearable. What am I saying? Far more than bearable. I have enjoyed every minute I have spent with you, when I was conscious that is." They smiled gently at each other. "And I wish to thank you for everything. We have become good friends, have we not?"

Friends. The word reverberated around her brain.

"And there will always be this…whatever this is…between us," he continued. "For I acknowledge there is something, and has been from our first meeting. I feel it too."

Keren was silent, knowing that his next words would be very important.

"It would be in vain if I tried to deny that there were moments between us when I was… confused as to what I was doing, how I was feeling, after such a short time. We do not really know each other, and yet I feel I know your soul, and you mine. I assure you that how you are feeling, it is not entirely unreciprocated."

 _But_ … Keren anticipated.

"But…"

She hid her sigh.

"I think it is best if when we part, we part as friends," he said. "True and honest ones. For so I think we shall be, for the rest of our lives."

Keren's silence said more than she could have hoped to achieve with speech. She eventually exhaled and looked him straight in the eye with a sad smile.

"Getting to know you has brought me such happiness, and having your friendship will bring me much joy," she said, trying not to let her voice shake. She did not say anything about her prophecy, or what she knew must – surely? – come. She thought he would understand in time. "Though I will not say I will be able to change the way I feel. So perhaps it would be best if we do not meet, for a time. Until fate brings us together again."

Keren could not believe she had the strength to say those words. Her heart was breaking.

Faramir looked at her steadily, then nodded, saying nothing.

"Perhaps it is best if I –". Keren hastily rose to leave.

"Stay a minute more," Faramir interrupted, touching her hand with his. "I have sent for a gift for you, to thank you, and as a farewell. It was something very dear to my mother, and therefore to me. I wish for you to have it."

"You do not have to thank me," Keren said. "And – " she decided to be honest – "a gift from you will make it harder for me to forget."

"Then do not forget," he said, "but remember fondly. And we do not know what will occur in the future. Do you not feel that life is all a matter of timing?"

Keren smiled weakly in response, remembering that those were the exact thoughts she had had the night he had tried to kiss her. Perhaps he was right, and perhaps they would meet again and have a second chance.

"So, for now, we say goodbye?" he asked.

Keren nodded and shakily said: "For now."

Her hand remained in his as he stood, and she rose to face him. She stood numbly as she felt his arms hug her tightly to him. She was worried that she would cling on like a mad woman, but her arms simply reached up and rested on his shoulder blades, her head perfectly fitting into his chest. She closed her eyes, and she felt him gently kiss the top of her head, with so much affection she felt her heart would burst.

Slowly she looked up at him.

"I meant what I said, I wish for no gift," she repeated. "But I will remember fondly."

"We shall see each other again," he said.

"I know." Keren's eyes were dry and her voice was steady. "In time. And I will explain everything that I could not say this time."

"And I will try to understand," he said simply.

They drew apart, and Keren knew that no more would she visit him within the Houses of Healing. When she saw him next it would be as a distant figure, separate and aloof from her and her life.

"I _will_ miss you," he said.

"I think perhaps I will miss you more than you will miss me," she said truthfully. "Goodbye, Faramir."

Without allowing herself to look back she turned and left the room.

Faramir sighed and turned to look at the gift he had thought to give her. It lay, folded into a neat pile, on the chest at the foot of his bed. The gold and silver embroidery upon the dark blue velvet shone and glimmered like the heavens it represented. His mother's mantle. The colour would have suited her so very well, and though she would not have had many occasions to wear it, it pleased him to think of her owning something so fine and drawing pleasure from it. But she did not want it.

 _And yet that is fitting_ , he thought as he realised the sad truth. _For I do not want her. Whatever it is that I may feel for her – and I am not certain what that is – I do not want her. Not as she wants me. At least, not yet. No. Not now._

For Faramir's heart and mind were only just beginning to speak to one another, and he was starting to realise that there was another that he did now want. One who was not driven desperately to love him by any strange feelings of fate, but rather with a mutual desire to recover and find friendship and trust. One who had been cold and aloof to begin with, but who was now starting to smile on him.

 _Yes_ , thought Faramir, _blue would look well with white._

* * *

Keren lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, an occasional tear rolling down her face and leaving a spreading patch of damp on her pillow. Confusion and disbelief raced around her head. She did not know how to feel, for she had never anticipated this moment to come. She had thought that it would be straightforward and easy, once their paths had crossed, once they were both, she thought, in the right place at the right time. And now, like an explosion which had left her reeling, this had happened. Everything had changed, in the space of minutes. Now she did not know where her life was headed, and the thought was terrifying. She had to hold onto the belief that this was just a test, a trial, and that they would have another chance. Why else would they have been brought together at this time? She closed her eyes and found herself bringing the crystal up to her heart.

 _How has this happened? Why? Why now?_ she kept repeating like a mantra over and over.

But her head and heart were in such turmoil that she could not hear or feel any reply that may have been forthcoming.

When Palen came in later that day she found Keren staring blankly into space, and knew immediately what must have happened. Silently she sat, and reversing their roles of a few days ago, lay down beside her little sister and hugged her tightly until Keren finally allowed herself to howl with grief.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and grey, with a bitter wind that caught old Ioreth's cheeks as she opened the window in the Lady Eowyn's room. Hastily closing the window so the noise of the sudden draft would not wake her, Ioreth glanced over at the young woman sleeping soundly, her pale faced still not fully relaxed even in repose. Ioreth wondered how Eowyn would take the gift that she had brought to her from Lord Faramir. It lay folded, heavy and dark, on the windowseat. What he meant by such a gift she did not know, but she had a feeling it was something to do with the almost primal sounds of despair she had heard coming from Keren's room the night before.

Silently she stole from the room, leaving the carefully written note atop the mantle, waiting to be discovered when the lady awoke.

* * *

Faramir was walking alone in the gardens, a strange feeling building in his chest – a feeling that something was about to happen which could change everything, but how, and what needed to change, he knew not.

"My lord Faramir," a now familiar voice called behind him. He turned to face the lady Eowyn, who was holding the mantle in her arms.

"I cannot accept this gift," she said quickly, "it is too fine for a shieldmaiden to wear."

As she stood there she was shivering, and Faramir could not help but smile at her pride.

"Will you at least wear it now, for it is plain to both of us that you are freezing," he said. "And then you can return it if you wish."

"What did you mean by offering such a thing to me?" she asked, and he was surprised to hear anger in her voice. "Surely you knew I could not accept it?"

"Why should I know that?" he asked quickly.

"It would not be fitting," she said with no pause or hesitation.

"How so?"

"A man does not just give things away to a woman he has just met. All sorts of things could be read into it. What must the healers have thought when they saw it laid out in my room, your note with it for all to see? And now there will be talk, and eyes watching us, and assuming. Wrongly."

Faramir blinked in surprise. How quickly her mind had gone in that direction. Little did she know that scarce twelve hours before he had actually been planning to give it to another. And yet how fine she would look in it now, her cheeks red with anger and, he realised, with embarrassment, but standing tall and proud, staring him down. Yet shivering, still shivering. He had a sudden desire to go over and warm her arms and red cheeks with his hands.

"Eowyn." He used her name without its title for the first time, causing her to take in a little sniff of surprise. "Will you not just forget your pride and put it on?"

"My pride is all I have," she said after a little while.

"You have my friendship now," he said simply. "Does that not count for something? For we are friends you and I, are we not? We have shared much together in a short time."

"Yes we are friends," she said.

"Then will you not accept my gift?" he asked.

Eowyn was about to shake her head when a bitter blast of wind hit her, causing her to grit her teeth against the cold and start shivering violently. She rolled her eyes. Faramir so longed to laugh, but knew that she did not always feel humour the same as he did. He took a few paces towards her, grabbed the mantle from her arms and quickly flung it about her shoulders. He thought about securing the clasp under her neck, but she deftly managed it herself before he had the chance.

Without a word she turned and walked towards the walls, looking out across the Pelennor, over to Ithilien and beyond to the Black Land.

Faramir held back a little and subtly studied her. So tall and fair – queenly indeed she looked now. And, of course, beautiful, although she did not realise it, and he caught himself smiling with fondness at her. His heart lurched a little as he realised just what he was beginning to feel. He would be ashamed to realise later that all thoughts of Keren had flown from his head, as if for that day she did not, had not ever, existed.

Slowly he walked to Eowyn and took their now familiar places beside each other at the wall, watching and waiting for they knew not what.

* * *

Keren could not bring herself to rise from her bed. It was foolish, for she knew she would be severely punished for it. And yet no one had come to check where she was and why she had not reported for work. So she allowed herself to lie, not particularly caring if she lost her place or not. The sun had long risen, and she could hear all the usual daytime noises of the Houses, could see that the sky was grey, could feel that if she moved from beneath her blankets she would be cold.

It must have been hours since she awoke, but she remembered in the months after her mother died that time had a funny way of rushing by whilst feeling that it was not moving at all, so she could not say what hour of the day it was.

And then a strange feeling took hold – one of complete nothingness. She was not sad, or tired, or even indifferent. She just felt nothing, and time seemed to stop completely. All sound had disappeared, as if it was affecting others too, and she was dimly aware that she was holding her breath. Then the light went. The sun seemed to fail, the sky darkened, and the wind dropped to nothing. Time stood still, and she lay frozen on her bed, and she would never afterwards be able to say how long that state lasted.

But as quickly as it came it ended, and now a great tremor rose up from the earth, shaking the washbowl on her windowsill, the room, the whole of the Houses, the walls of the city itself.

When it died away the strangest thing occurred – the earth sighed. She could never explain, nor could anyone who had heard the sound, what exactly it was that she heard, nor could she begin to replicate it. But it seemed at the time that all living things had been holding their breath for lifetimes, and only now could the breath be released. She noticed her heart was now beating heavily and robustly, and knew that life would go on, and that she would be alright, with a little patience and forbearance.

And she rose from her bed, and dressed, and smiled, for a strange joy had come into her heart that she could not explain or deny. A great wind had risen up, and rather than shutting it out she opened her window wide and gazed out at the sky, now blazing blue with a bright yellow sun high above, shining down upon the city. And she knew in her heart that something had happened, something wonderful.

Tears that she was not aware had fallen, both of sadness and joy, were drying on her cheeks as she walked hastily down the corridor to her work. Past the warden's office she went, and there were no stern words for her at her lateness, and past the gardens, which she did not even turn to look at in her haste to be at the side of her sister, and to ask if she had felt what had just happened.

Palen had, and they gazed at each other in happy confusion as they tried to fathom what could have come to pass. Then Ioreth appeared with the same dazed look of puzzled happiness on her face, and together they set to their work, Ioreth not even seeming to notice that Keren was over an hour late.

Indeed something strange had occurred, and the puzzling thoughts of all in the city were answered when a few hours later, shortly after noon, they saw something that few had ever seen, nor would see again.

An eagle had been sighted flying straight towards the White Tower from the Black Land, and swiftly. Tidings quickly passed through the city, and Keren was one of thousands who fought to find a space out in the open to see it fly over, for all knew it was a sign of some kind.

But none were expecting it to open its mouth and sing. Folk gaped in wonder, and the eagle thought it was most amusing, an entire city far below staring up at his belly with their mouths open. But he was too happy and proud to let it affect his song.

 _Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,_

 _for the realm of Sauron is ended for ever,_

 _and the Dark Tower is thrown down._

Keren only heard the first verse, as he circled around and around the city, flying high and low, sometimes barely six feet from the walls, but it was enough to make her shout and laugh, and hug Palen to her tightly, and cry into her shoulder with relief and happiness. For a few blissful minutes, there was no despair or regret, no heart-wrenching sadness. Just joy.

There was joy in Faramir's heart also, as he stood with Eowyn on the walls, now crowded with all the folk from the Houses who were giving them not a thought, but rather staring up at the sky. And in that oddly private state, he was able to link his fingers with hers on top of the wall and smile across at her. She felt his gaze, and brought her eyes down from the sky and looked over at him. She did not smile, but the hand that remained in his gave him hope. As did the memory of kissing her brow and her not recoiling from him. She still wore the mantle.

* * *

The people of Minas Tirith rejoiced for many days. Flowers were strewn in the still ruined streets, music was played long into the night, as much wine and ale as could be sourced in the city was drunk copiously.

Keren and the other healers were rather amusingly kept busy with injuries from drunken accidents and brawls, but they still found time to celebrate.

Four days after the wonderful news had been brought, Faramir left the Houses and took up his authority as steward of the city. Keren had not seen him once in that time, out of choice, but she was able to smile with pride at the thought of him sat in the grand chair below the great throne in the White Tower, although she of course was not present when he did so for the first time.

What no one other than Palen knew however, was that as the days passed Keren still cried herself to sleep every night. She knew her emotions would be tempestuous for a long time. Her heart was severely bruised, close to broken, and she had been through much in a short time. Some nights she felt as if she would never recover, but every day she rose to go to work, or on her day off, ensured she spent the day doing something useful or fun. She ate and slept, and functioned, and to Palen that was a very encouraging sign, as when their mother had died Keren shut down completely and did not fully resurface for many months.

Keren was aware that she clutched the crystal tightly in her pocket, and perhaps clung to hope a little too much that their paths would cross again in the future – and when the tears came she let them flow unchecked, not berating herself for feeling as she naturally should. But underneath it all was a strength, a reassurance, that she was alive, and she had lived to see the fall of Sauron.

 _The hobbit then,_ she realised, _must have succeeded. The elf was right to trust in him._

Her thoughts turned to the Prince of Mirkwood for the first time in many days, and she found herself wondering if he had survived, and if he had, whether she would see him again.

 _Learning more about elves would indeed be a great distraction,_ she thought.

* * *

 **Author note: Oh the feels! Argh, so Keren got friend-zoned. There's nothing worse is there, we've all been there! I hope people don't think she was overly melodramatic about it – the poor girl had set the guy on a pedestal for nine years, I think she's entitled to be heart-broken for more than a little while. But who knows what the future might hold? Well, me. Haha.**


	10. Chapter Ten - Change to survive

**Author note - Hello hello and sorry once more for another ridiculously long time between updates. Sadly real life takes over sometimes haha. I do love this story though and I am slowly and quietly working on it. This chapter was an extra long time in coming because I just could not get it to read right - I'm still not happy with it but I want to press on and get back to the elf! He's back in the next chapter ;) Thanks to Candilover, Naiya Belladonna, Procrastinatingismyforte, Zaubertkatze, avatarange, Yorkiemom, EverBear01, HillsCass and QueenfromMiddleEarth for the follows and faves.**

 **Thanks for your reviews as always jshaw0624, I'm sorry I made you wait so long haha.**

 **Tibblets and Rachetg I can't keep Keren too unhappy for long poor thing ;)**

 **Annafan - Haha I'm so glad someone has said it! I do love Faramir, but I also like to make the characters human. He did lead Keren on, but does feel bad about it! He cares for her very deeply, and is genuinely confused about how he feels for her, but sadly at this point in time he fancies Eowyn more lol.**

 **Zip001 - Thanks so much for your really kind review, I do try to make all of the characters have good and bad traits. Keren for example is perhaps a little melodramatic and naive, Faramir doesn't know what he wants so really leads Keren down the garden path as it were, Eowyn is so proud she can barely function like a normal human being haha.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten – Change to survive**

It was the morning of the first of April, and Keren felt like a fool.

The more time she had given to thinking over all that had occurred, the more she felt like a naïve idiot. She still awoke every morning with Faramir's face in her minds eye, which irritated her beyond belief, for he just would not leave. She knew that nothing now would happen between them, and yet her heart and mind, instead of being sensible and allowing her to move on, clung on stubbornly to the idea of him.

This morning was no different. Keren and Palen had been awoken early by Ioreth and told to hasten to the warden's office, with no explanation. Keren had been pulled from a dream of Faramir into cold reality, where the only semblance of him was a gut-churning feeling of sadness and embarrassment, wearing a mask of his face.

Groggily the girls made their way to the office, and sat confusedly on a bench near the back, seeing that only a few fellow healers had been summoned.

The wardens voice seemed overly loud in the still early morning.

"I bid you all welcome," he said, "and thank you for arriving so promptly. I will be brief. The Lord Elessar has commanded that ten of our number are to be sent to his camp at Cormallen to tend to the wounded. Many have been injured, and skirmishes with Easterlings and Southrons are still taking place. There is only so much the men can do to heal themselves, and whilst he is a great healer, as some of us here have witnessed, he cannot be everywhere. The fifteen of you I have gathered here I believe are my strongest healers. I will be going myself to Cormallen, whilst Ioreth will remain in charge here. The rest of you I ask to decide amongst yourselves who shall be the ten to go with me, for I know it is not a choice all of you will be keen to make."

There was silence as his words were taken in.

To go to Cormallen, to see Ithilien – it would be dangerous, but exciting. But Keren's immediate thought was panic. There had been too much change, too much to deal with lately, that she did not feel she would be able to provide her best care if she travelled to an unknown place at this time. Palen however, Keren could see, was itching to go already, for it meant that she would see Dannor far sooner than she had hoped.

"I shall go, sir," Palen said quickly before anyone else could take her place, and the warden nodded, clearly expecting and happy with her decision.

"Thank you Palen," he said. "Keren?"

Keren was only torn for a moment or two. Even though she knew it would mean being separated from her sister for a time, and missing out on an opportunity to travel and see Ithilien, she just felt so weary and afraid of any further change that she knew what her answer must be.

"I would rather remain here sir, I am sorry," she said. "I feel I would be of more use here, helping Ioreth."

Palen turned to look at her in surprise, and Keren just shrugged and shook her head. The warden however seemed happy with her choice, and Ioreth looked pleased.

Others gradually began to say yea or nay and, with only one minor altercation, the ten were chosen. Palen was silent, and when Keren met her eyes, Palen gave her a strange look then turned away.

The morning bell rang out six o clock, and the healers were sent to their morning routines and duties. Palen took Keren's arm as soon as they were away from the group.

"What was that about?" she asked. "Surely you want to get away for a while?"l

"No, honestly Pal, I'd rather stay here, I need familiarity," Keren said, continuing to walk."

"But you'd have me." The tone of Palen's voice immediately told Keren that her sister was upset at the thought of them being separated. "I'd look after you."

Keren stopped and turned to look at her sister, who she was surprised to see had tears in her eyes.

"I just want you to be happy Keren," she said. "The thought of you being here on your own, just thinking about… well, you know… This is a perfect distraction."

"It's too far," Keren relied quickly. "And it's the unknown, I'm frightened of what's going to happen as it is. At least if I stay I have a routine, I have familiar faces and places."

"You also have him, looming over you like a shadow, never too far away. Come to Cormallen, and forget him. Better, forget you ever met him."

"I can't do that Pal, nor do I want to. Not yet, maybe not ever."

Palen rolled her eyes in frustration and swept past her sister.

"You're your own worst enemy," she said, just loud enough for Keren to hear as she walked away, and Keren knew it to be true.

* * *

Palen spent the next three days preparing to leave whenever she had a spare moment, making ready clothes and belongings. It was difficult as she did not know how long she would be away for. Each morning Keren awoke to her sister rustling around in cupboards or huffing in annoyance as she could not find things.

Keren continued in her strange half-awake stage, living life and going through the motions every day, but not feeling anything other than a curious disassociation from reality. The other healers worked around her awkwardly, and found her distant and cold. She was unaware that she was coming across as rude or uncaring, and had no memory of conversations she had had during the day.

Palen, when she had the time, studied her sister worriedly, for Keren seemed to be getting worse rather than better. The slightly glazed-over look was back in her eyes, and when she smiled or laughed it was painfully apparent that her happiness was not real. Palen kept hoping that Keren would have changed her mind overnight, but the morning of the fourth of April rolled around and only Palen's belongings were packed. The next day she was to leave.

The hobbit Merry had also been making preparations to travel, for he had been summoned to Elessar's side, and was to be reunited with his greatest friend Pippin. Palen was happy to be sharing the journey with him, for a sweet friendship had grown between them – but of course she would much rather her sister would come too.

The lady Eowyn had been called to Cormallen, by her brother the new king of Rohan, but so far she appeared to be ignoring the summons, despite being almost completely healed. It seemed odd to Keren that for one so desperate to escape the healers clutches all of one week ago she now would ignore the call of her brother and the chance to see the man she loved. A painful twinge of some emotion she could not name kept popping up whenever she thought about the lady's decision to stay, as if she could not quite admit what was staring her in the face just yet. Palen of course, being far more of the real world than her sister in that time, knew exactly why the lady was hesitating to leave. One day last week she had seen the two noble figures of Faramir and Eowyn sat together over a great book, heads so close their foreheads were almost touching. There was no real hint of romance between them that she could see, but the bond between them was undeniable. The protective side of her prayed that Keren would not come across them and witness their closeness, but then the practical thinker in her would raise her head and hope that it would be the wake up call her sister needed to move on. However either way could prove difficult, as the Lord Faramir was kept so busy with his new duties as steward that he seldom visited the Houses now.

That morning Palen had thrown one last desperate look at Keren as together they moved Palen's packed up belongings to the stables to be loaded onto a wagon – it was to be a very early departure the next day.

Keren chose to ignore her sisters' pleading eyes, and hastened to Ioreth to learn her duties for the day as soon as the cart was loaded. Ioreth had not once commented on her decision to stay, and was careful to treat her exactly the same as she would any other day. She of course did not know all that had transpired, but she prided herself on being far more intelligent than she sometimes let on – and it did not take a genius to notice that the visits to the Lord Faramir had stopped just as the Lady Eowyn was well enough healed to walk in the gardens.

She felt sorry for Keren, but thought it was just a young girls first love that would soon be forgotten. She was growing a little concerned that Keren still did not seem to be moving on.

"Keren, are you listening to me?" she said, not too gently. The girl stood before her but it was almost as if she was not there. She watched as Keren visibly started and snapped to attention.

Ioreth frowned.

"What did I just say?" she asked.

"To go and fetch fresh herbs and bandages for the man with the burnt hand, then to sit with the little girl with the fever and make note of any changes," Keren rolled off promptly.

Ioreth eyed her suspiciously. Those indeed had been her instructions, but it had looked for all the world as if Keren had not heeded them. Something really must be amiss with the girl if she could look so vacant and still be able to concentrate – it was like she was being pulled through life with the smallest of effort on her part, able to function but not caring how she did it.

"Well off you go then," Ioreth said.

Keren did not even look her in the eye before she left.

The morning passed slowly. Though Keren was grateful that the Houses had returned to a state of relative calm and peace, it made for a rather dull day, especially when she could not stop her mind from repeating over and over her moments with Faramir, or worse, imagining scenarios which she knew now would not come to pass. It had got to the stage now where she wished she could just switch that part of her brain off, but then when she tried she found she missed his presence in her head, for he was in the background all the time.

In the afternoon she made her way to the Lady Eowyn's room. The lady needed little to no real care now, her arm out of its sling and her health restored, but Keren had unwittingly become a kind of maidservant to her, checking that she had everything she required. She still seemed pale and solemn, and had taken to wandering round in slow circles of the gardens, or sitting under the willow tree gazing up at the sky. She was well enough, however, to depart for Cormallen if she so desired, but so far had made no preparations to leave.

 _Perhaps this has become a place of safety for her too_ , Keren wondered. _Although she does not strike me as the kind of person who needs protection from the world._

When she reached the lady's room Eowyn was not there, as Keren had half expected, and without thinking she made her way to the gardens, as she knew that would be where she would find her wandering alone, deep in thought.

Keren's footsteps rang on the stone steps as she stepped out into the bright sunlight of the warm spring day, then crunched on the gravel path past the willow tree. A light breeze was gently rustling the new leaves and a few tickled her face as she walked by.

What strange quirk of fate was it that made her see what she saw just then from that very spot? Why had she chosen that precise moment to walk into the gardens? For as she passed by the tree what she saw stopped her in her tracks and almost caused her knees to buckle. Subconsciously she reached out and grabbed onto a handful of the thin leaves.

Faramir and Eowyn were stood by the walls, the same spot where she had stood that night looking out across the Pelennor, and in the bright sun of that April day they appeared almost illuminated, colours brighter and features finer as they stood in the breeze.

They were locked in an embrace, their lips meeting with a smile as Faramir bent his head and kissed her passionately. The lady, rather than flinching away, rose to meet him, and Keren could tell they were oblivious to any people that may have been able to see them from the lower levels of the city. This was a public declaration of, if not love, then at least intent, and it completed the job of breaking Keren's heart. She thought she could physically feel her heartstrings snapping, and stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away.

Their hair, golden and raven, was streaming and mingling in the wind, and their fine cloaks blowing and wrapping around them seemed to create a barrier between them and the world. They were both untouchable.

Keren could not see any way back from this now – Faramir was lost to her. For why would he ever choose her over the sister of a king, and one so beautiful? Together they looked truly regal, an imposing and powerful couple, and beautiful. No doubt great romances would be written about their picturesque union and how they had found love in being healed. Healing which she, Keren, had provided.

She knew then at that moment that her life could either end – so great was her pain, her lack of faith in fate, her feelings of betrayal and disillusion – or start again. She thought back to that strange moment when she had felt in her very blood and bones the downfall of Sauron, and the feeling of connection with life, with living. She became aware of the leaves clutched in her hand, and thought how nature always finds a way of enduring, surviving, as the willow tree had, so far away from its natural home beside a river, in a city of stone. Things must adapt, must embrace change, to survive. She knew then what she must do.

Her feet could not carry her quickly enough away from the scene and towards Palen.

"I'm coming to Cormallen, if they'll have me", Keren announced as soon as she had located her sister.

Palen looked up in shock at the sudden and rather dramatic announcement, then smiled with relief.

"They'll have you," she said.

* * *

The next night, with much bewilderment and confusion on Keren's part at the sudden way her life had veered off course, found her, Palen and Merry, along with the other elected healers, sleeping in a ship moored off the island of Cair Andros.

The journey had been simple. She had hastily packed two bags of belongings which were thrown onto the wagon, and the next morning had departed from the city for the first time in her life. The group had travelled by horse or in the wagons to the ruined city of Osgiliath, and then boarded a ship which took them upstream along the Anduin to Cair Andros, newly retaken after Sauron's forces had attempted to cross the river. As they had sailed along Keren had turned back to see Minas Tirith from a distance – though she knew she was to return she did not know how soon that would be, nor what she would find at Cormallen. She had felt inestimably brave as she turned her back on her home and looked towards Ithilien.

Now Keren lay beneath several warm blankets on the open deck, close to Palen, who she thought had just managed to fall asleep. Sleep was not close for Keren yet, as she lay looking up at the stars. She could hear Merry snoring gently from his place across the deck, and the shoulders of the humped form of the warden of the Houses were slowly moving with gentle breaths. Only she was awake, it seemed, as she looked around at the other healers. Her mind was not still, and try as she might she kept replaying the scene she had witnessed in the garden, just as she had the night before. Only now she was in a far different setting, and found that the stillness and beauty of the stars above her helped to calm her thoughts and settle her aching heart, if she focussed on them long enough.

Nevertheless they had begun to fade in the sky by the time she finally found sleep, her hand subconsciously creeping to the crystal and holding it close to her heart.

The next morning they crossed the eastern spur of the river at its narrowest point and alighted at Cormallen. Doing so was the moment Keren felt most afraid of the decision she had made – the river was rushing by, deep and choppy, and the ferry they were taking across did not seem stable enough to support them all. She clung to the wooden rail as they were thrown about, and she thought how safe and simple life would be if she had stayed behind. And yet when she set her feet on the shore, how unexciting too. And how painful.

She breathed in deeply, trying to banish thoughts of Faramir, and allowed herself to look around as they waited for their belongings to be ferried across.

In Keren's mind, the field of Cormallen had always been just that, a field. But the reality was far more imposing, and far more beautiful. A row of willow trees ran along the edge of the great river, and the ground climbed gently up away from them in a broad expanse of pure green grass. In the distance the forests of Ithilien began, a riot of spring blossoms and leaves. Stretching almost all the way from the river to the forest, however, were military tents, brought from Rohan and Gondor all the way to the gates of Mordor, and now to here. There were no distinguishing or grand features telling Keren which one was Elessar's, or Eomer the new king of Rohan's. Merry likewise did not know where he would find Pippin, and Palen felt she hadn't a hope of locating Dannor amongst the thousands of other foot soldiers.

 _Our father is here somewhere too_ , Keren thought belatedly.

But then it occurred to her that he may not be. Beregond had sent word that he and Dannor were safe and well, but no word had come from her father. Was he even alive? Surely Beregond would have said if he had not survived?

The small group of healers (and a hobbit) stood awkwardly at the edge of the field. The warden had been fairly confident that someone would meet them and show them to where they would be based for the duration of their stay, but it now seemed that they were being left to fend for themselves. The warden sighed irritably.

"I suppose we make for the higher ground," he said. "We'll get a better view of the camp and should be able to spot – "

"No need for that master warden." A familiar voice greeted Keren's ears.

"Beregond!" she cried and enveloped him in her arms as best she could – he was still in armour, always ready for any attack to the camp by stray soldiers of the enemy. The warden attempted to look displeased at Keren's outward and very public display of affection for a man who was not her father or her husband, but found he could not keep a smile off his face at the sight of two friends reunited after an uncertain and dangerous time apart.

Keren embarrassingly felt tears coming to her eyes – she longed to tell Beregond all that she had been through since he left, and it was good to be held in strong, protective arms once more. She knew he would listen attentively, and offer her sensible words of comfort and advice. But she also knew he would not have the time to do so. Beregond tactfully removed himself from her embrace before she completely broke down, which he could sense was a possibility.

"Welcome all," he said. His face and name were familiar to the whole group, all of them having witnessed him chiding his son Bergil numerous times for getting in their way. "I'll show you where you all shall stay. For some of you your duties may begin today, but I'm hoping to have time to show you around the camp beforehand."

Beregond took them through the tents, pointing out where meals were served, the quickest path to the forest and to the river in order to wash. He brought them past the large tents of the nobles – Elessar, King Eomer, the sons of Elrond, Prince Imrahil, close to the edge of the forest. Keren stopped in her tracks and stared, for there was Mithrandir, the white wizard, walking with his long staff towards a small, simple tent under the trees. He did not see her.

The group were moving on towards the area where they would be based, when a deep voice shouted out.

"Master warden!" The King of Rohan ran out of his tent. "You bring news of my sister?"

Worry was written plain on his face, for he had only received one short reply from Eowyn saying that she would not be joining him, and all he could think was that she had sickened anew. The warden bowed deeply.

"King Eomer," he said in greeting, then turned to Beregond. "Take the others to our camp, I will follow anon. Palen, Keren, stay, you have been with the lady the most."

The girls looked at each other nervously at the prospect of a King questioning them on the care of his sister, as Eomer led them into his tent.

The tent was fairly small and dark, and smelt, not surprisingly, of horse. Eomer did not sit, but rather paced anxiously, leaving the warden and the girls standing awkwardly in the corner, following him with their eyes.

"These young women will be able to answer any questions in more detail, my lord," the warden said. "They have had daily care of the Lady Eowyn between them. Though I do reassure you we left her in almost perfect health."

Palen gave Keren a quick reassuring look, as if to say that she was happy to do most of the talking. She was well aware that Keren was not in the best place to be able to talk about Eowyn with ease.

"Then why has she not come?" Eomer asked quickly. "Is she hiding an illness from me? From you?"

"It would be impossible to hide any illness or injury from us, lord, I assure you," the warden said with some pride.

The girls faced some difficulty, for both of them knew why Eowyn chose to stay, but felt they could not broach the topic so easily. Such an event would have huge political effects on both Rohan and Gondor, and they did not feel comfortable being the ones to tell of it. Surely such important news should come from Faramir and Eowyn themselves? The news had spread through the Houses and even into the city within the day, as soon as the people below had witnessed their kiss, as soon as it became clear that a marriage had quickly been agreed upon. Surely a messenger was already on his way to Eomer with tidings from his sister confirming this?

"But you know how she fares?" Eomer continued. "I wish for details. Her arm? Is she still sleeping strangely?"

"Her injuries are well on the way to being healed my lord," Palen spoke up. "They are causing her no real trouble. Her sleeping patterns are returned to normal and she suffers no nightmares. She is perhaps a little thinner than before, but she is well rested. She has… great energy."

"Then I do not understand." Eomer frowned. "Why does she choose to remain?"

Keren felt panicky. The tent suddenly felt very small and hot, and Eomer's piercing eyes made her long to burst out the truth, but speaking it would make it more real somehow. She held in a sob. Palen, as she often did, sensed that something was wrong, and lightly brushed the back of her hand against Keren's.

The warden smiled and produced a folded letter from within his cloak.

"I believe the contents of this message will make all clear, my lord," he said. "And I hope will also bring you joy."

There was silence as Eomer took the letter, written in Eowyn's hand – the three healers watched as he read, hastily to begin with, searching for information, then with disbelief, then with dawning understanding. Keren could not watch the King's face any longer, and stared at the ground, knowing what he read. He did not notice her discomfort, and burst into a happy laugh, which to Keren felt like daggers firing into her heart.


	11. Chapter Eleven - The Field of Cormallen

**Author note - Hello hello and welcome to my fairly on time update, woohoo! Couple of lines in this chapter taken from the book, so obviously those are not mine. All my original characters are though. Also the elf is back #justsaying.**

 **Thanks 4everloveyou, Kitty0dair, canadian shorebird, girllyingbythesea901, karina marinaiov, shophiescastle, Star Tae, sleepyPrincess, Learnor, Ncori, Rasmany, ang-vamp, my Little Dreamer and umeiio for all the follows and favs, it's so cool to see so many new people who are enjoying the story, or people who were following who have now made it a fav, so nice!**

 **Rachetg, jshaw0624 and Zip001 - thank you so much for your reviews, again haha, I love reading them. I hope you enjoy the direction the story is going in. You're right in that Keren has had a rough time of it, but you need the lows to appreciate the highs, and a massive high is about to walk his green-clad way into the story again.**

 **Anyone else who is reading this who has any comments or feedback on how I could improve, or who'd like to share what they're enjoying/hating DO IT! Don't be shy I love reading reviews!**

 **Onwards...**

* * *

 **Chapter eleven - The field of Cormallen**

Keren had retreated again. She was back in a world of swirling grey and numbness.

It was as if her mind had switched off when she saw the happiness on Eomer's face, refusing to allow her to feel or to think. The conversation went on, the warden congratulating him on his sister's good fortune, Palen smiling and nodding at the right time, all the while her heart breaking for Keren, who stood unnoticed slightly to one side, staring at the floor.

Dimly Keren registered that their time in the King's tent was ended, and she mechanically followed her sister outside into the fresh air. Once they had fallen into step behind him and the warden, Palen grasped her hand.

"He is taking us to our camp," she whispered. "Stay strong a while longer."

Keren nodded blindly.

 _Stay strong_. How many times had she repeated those words to herself? Had she ever truly heeded them?

Somehow one foot was still being placed in front of the other. She could not tell for how long they walked, past how many tents and men, some with interested glances towards the two young women so out of place in a military camp. Eomer and the warden were conversing deeply but quietly, so they could only hear brief snatches of the details of the battle and subsequent skirmishes. It seemed that it was these that were going to provide the healers with the most work during their time at Cormallen.

Keren trudged on blindly, almost walking into the warden's back when they came to a stop in front of a small, slightly dirty tent. A young man with cropped dark hair and a slightly wonky smile was stood outside, a nasty cut on his face and his left arm in a very rough sling. Palen gave a cry and dashed forward.

"Dannor, oh Dan!"

He flung his good arm around her, and she could not see his wince as she leant a little too heavily on his sprained wrist. He held her close and kissed the top of her head, before she looked up and kissed his mouth. He hissed and winced again as her hand went to his face and touched the cut on his face, then laughed.

"Call yourself a healer, Pal?" he said. "You're hurting me."

She gasped and jumped back, but he quickly grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, kissing her with enthusiasm.

Keren, overjoyed for her sister and brother-in-law, was brought back to life briefly, and smiled a true smile of happiness. The young couple were oblivious to all others, as if they were the only two people in the world, and the warden did not call after Palen as Dannor began to walk her back towards the forest.

"Her duties can start tomorrow," he said briefly, with an awkward look at Keren. She nodded in reply, before turning and seeing Beregond, who waved her over.

"There is a space for you and Palen in here, but it is cramped - you'll be sharing with the other women." He gestured inside the low tent. "I hope you find it comfortable," he added with a wry grin. "If you need to bathe or, er, relieve yourself, the forest is your best chance of privacy. Also I hope you have prepared for rather irregular sleeping patterns. You will be called upon at all hours of the day, best to catch sleep while you can."

He stopped, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and her strained expression.

"All alright?" he asked quietly, taking her to one side.

"Just tired," she said simply.

Her rush of wanting to tell him everything was now overshadowed by her recent discovery of Eowyn's tidings, and now she found the last thing she wanted to do was speak of it.

Beregond raised an eyebrow, knowing there was far more for her to tell.

"Don't make me talk of it now." Annoying, tired and angry tears came to her eyes, which she furiously blinked away. "You will hear the news soon enough, and you will be able to guess why I am like this. But I came here to help, and to get away. So point me towards where I can be of use."

"Oh Keren." Beregond put a gently hand on her shoulder. "Always lately you are sad and tired. Begin your work tomorrow, and do not be useful tonight, rest instead. Go and see your father, he is here, and unhurt."

Her eyes met his, and she did not have to tell him what she was thinking.

 _Why is he not coming to see me? Why do I have to go to him?_

"I am sorry I did not send you news of him,"Beregond said. "He was not in my company and I had heard nothing. But since we returned from Mordor I have spoken to him. He knows you were due to arrive today, and of course wishes to see you."

"I will go of course," she said with little expression. "Where can I find him?"

Beregond offered to walk her to where her father's company had set up camp, as he was loath to send her off into the vast company of men without protection, but insisted she stay and break her fast with the other healers first.

"You look half starved," he said by means of an explanation. "And exhausted."

"Thank you Beregond," she said. "I really needed to hear that I look terrible as well as feel it."

He could not help but smile at her, as her biting sarcasm indicated that she still had a spark of life about her. Tentatively she smiled back, although he noticed it did not reach her eyes. He thought he had a good idea what this sadness was about, but knew better than to question her now, and kept a close eye on her as she ate, making sure she was indeed eating and not just pushing her food around the bowl.

As soon as she was done she rose quickly and asked Beregond to take her to her father. She felt she should really wait for Palen to return with Dannor so that they could go together, but she also wanted the meeting done. Her father was becoming more and more of a distant figure to her, which had initially saddened her, but now was just accepted as the way life had played out. She always felt a rush of guilt every time she realised she was seeing him out of a sense of duty rather than any real desire to spend time with him, but she felt it was reciprocated. Both reminded each other of her mother.

She mulled all these familiar thoughts over as Beregond took her to him, wondering how the conversation would even begin.

* * *

Palen and Dannor walked back to camp after a couple of blessed hours alone. They received a few knowing smirks as they passed by, but neither could keep the happiness from their faces, and did not try to hide it. As they neared the healers camp they heard the fast pattering of small footsteps.

"Pal! Pal!" A slightly out of breath hobbit was running towards them.

"Pal, Pippin's awake," Merry shouted, "he's awake!"

Palen placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but she felt her heart leap in excitement for her new friend at his good news. She looked over at Dannor in her happiness and saw the look of surprise on his face. She forgot he had never seen a hobbit before.

"Dan, this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry for short," she said to him as a quick introduction.

"And short is the word," said Merry with a grin. "It is an honour to meet the husband of the finest healer in Gondor."

Dannor had heard about the hobbit from Palen, but had not realised just how close a friendship the two had developed in such a short time. The close bond was evident, and if Merry had not been nearly two feet smaller than his wife, and did not have such large hairy feet, he would have been slightly concerned.

"Much have I heard of you in my wife's letters Master Brandybuck, and an honour it is to meet you too," Dannor said seriously. "I have read a long account of your travels and deeds in battle from Palen. You are very brave."

Merry muttered and looked at the ground, pleased that Pal had spoken so glowingly of him.

"And how is Pippin?" Palen asked, to spare his awkwardness.

"Oh, you must come and meet him," cried Merry. "He is well, sitting up in bed cracking jokes already. Gandalf did something, I'm sure of it, and I really do think he'll be up and about by tomorrow."

"Surely he is not up to visitors?" Dannor said.

"From what I have learned of hobbits he will be," said Palen. "They are a hardy race. Why, Merry was walking about scarce twenty-four hours after almost being killed. If he says Pippin is well I believe him."

"And anyway, I would have no one else other than you to oversee his care, if he is not," Merry said, taking Palen's hand. "A great carer and a comfort you were to me while I was healing, and Pip deserves the best. I hope Frodo and Sam, when they awaken, will meet you too."

"They are still sleeping?" Palen asked with surprise, for Dannor had told her it had been almost two weeks since they had been brought from the slopes of Mount Doom to Cormallen.

"Pip tells me Gandalf has them in an enchanted sleep of some sort," Merry said confidentially. "He wants them healed in body and mind before they have to speak of their time in Mordor, which they will have to do. But soon I think he shall lift the spell. They are over there, just beside the woods."

He waved his arm in the general direction of the trees, and as he spoke he pulled Palen along in the opposite direction towards where Pippin lay.

"You will know much of hobbits Pal, once this is over," Dannor said to his wife over the top of Merry's head.

"Not nearly enough I fear," Pal replied with a smile. "A more confusing creature I have never met as Merry here, nor a more delightful one. And I hope, once this is over, that we will remain friends."

Merry squeezed her hand in reply.

"You are about to make a new friend Pal, of that I'm sure," he said as he reached the tent where he had left Pippin sitting up eating a man-sized portion of stew.

"Pippin, oh mighty warrior of the Shire," Merry announced loudly as he entered the tent, "here is my friend Palen, fair healer of Gondor, and her husband Dannor, noble soldier of the – oh!"

Palen and Dannor stopped abruptly behind Merry as they also looked with surprise at the unexpected figures before them.

"Gimli! Legolas!" Merry cried. "My friends!"

Palen stood in shock as she took in the sight of an elf and a dwarf sat in such close proximity. She had never seen either race before, nor did she think it was common for the two to endure each other's presence – she had heard of the terrible animosity between elves and dwarves. Dannor was a little less taken aback, as travelling with the army he had seen these strange characters from a distance, and knew they were friends of Elessar.

Palen had of course heard their names before from Merry as he relayed tales of his journey, but it was still strange to her to put faces to the odd names.

Gimli the dwarf – he was stockier and sturdier than she had imagined, and yes, taller, although it was hard to tell his true height as he was sat awkwardly on a tiny stool. His beard and hair were a burnt red, and his nose large and bulbous. She could barely see his eyes hidden under his protruding eyebrows.

And the elf, Legolas. Palen gave herself a mental shake as she remembered that Merry had told her he was a Prince of the distant realm of Mirkwood.

 _I am doing well today_ , she thought wryly, _a King and a Prince in one morning._

She studied him whilst trying to appear as if she was not. Like Keren, she had been brought up on stories of elves, and now one was here before her she had to admit that yes indeed, he was incredibly attractive, but there was something other-worldly about him which disconcerted her. His hair was a little too perfect, his face entirely symmetrical and flawless in its beauty, his skin smooth, with no trace of stubble on his cheeks. She looked over at Dannor and smiled – she knew who she would choose a thousand times over, elf prince or no.

Both elf and dwarf now stood in welcome, and Merry dashed over to them, unashamedly thrilled to see them, for they had parted in Minas Tirith with no certainty of whether they would see each other again. Both had been kept busy with Aragorn's plans for Gondor, both imminent and long term, and neither had had the chance to meet with their friend.

Palen felt a little intrusive as the four friends drew close together in reunion, leaving her and Dannor stood awkwardly at the entrance.

The strange little group gathered around Pippin's bed, although the incumbent looked as though he were desperate to leap out of it with excitement, having been well fed and watered since he had awoken, and suffering little other than a mild headache after his experience outside the Black Gate.

"Now all we need is the others," Pippin said happily, "and the time surely cannot be far off when we are all together again."

Palen immediately liked Pippin, she could not help it. She thought both he and Merry had been incredibly brave and faithful to their friends and their cause – unlikely as it had first seemed, she had to admit that she viewed them as heroes just as much as the warriors they had travelled with, and she was sure she had only heard half the story. What she would make of Frodo the ringbearer and his companion Samwise she did not know, for she could not believe that two such creatures were responsible for the downfall of Sauron. She honestly thought she would have to see them and hear them tell the tale in order to even begin to believe it.

Merry, once the excitement of being together again had worn off, eventually introduced her and Dannor.

"My friends, may I introduce properly another friend of mine, Palen, daughter of Maleron, and her husband Dannor, knight of Gondor?"

Palen curtsied low, whilst Dannor bowed and said humbly how great an honour it was to meet such heroes. Gimli scoffed.

"And I suppose you didn't march with us to Mordor, nor fought the enemy with courage and no thought for yourself?" he said crossly. "I can see by the scar on your face you did not have an easy time of it. No, master Dannor, in my eyes all who marched East are equal to us, so there'll be less of this bowing and scraping. Especially to the Princeling here."

He immediately nudged Legolas in the ribs and laughed, and the elf pretended to look annoyed. Palen however had not missed the inquisitive look the elf threw in her direction when Merry had said her father's name, and wondered what had prompted it.

"How are you feeling Pip?" Merry's question drew her gaze away from the elf and onto the hobbit sat up in bed.

Rosy-cheeked and bright of eye, Palen would never have guessed that a few hours before Pippin had been unconscious, resting after being wounded in battle, and yet she knew from Merry that that was the case.

"Much better," Pippin replied. "Food helped. Although my head is still sore, but I don't want to trouble Gandalf just because of that."

"Pal will sort you out," Merry said confidently. "She is the best healer in Gondor – "

"You did not have any other healer to compare me to," Palen interrupted quietly.

" – and she will, I hope," he carried on as if she had not spoken, "tend to Frodo and Sam once they are awake, take some of the weight off Gandalf's shoulders."

Palen felt almost dizzy with wonder at the sound of her name being thrown about with those of such fame or importance, and looked at Dannor in bewilderment.

"Master Merry," Dannor said, "you must remember my wife is here to tend the soldiers of the army, not illustrious hobbits. She will have to go where she is sent, like the other healers."

"He's right Merry," Palen said in agreement.

"I will speak to Aragorn, and we shall see," was all Merry said.

* * *

Keren stood awkwardly in front of Maleron, son of Fordon as he looked her up and down. They had got past the usual greeting of "father", "daughter", and now stood regarding each other, each wondering how life could possibly have ended up this way.

Her father, with his dark, stern face, looked both judging and concerned.

"You have been ill," he said simply.

"No," Keren replied. "Not really. Just tired."

She dared not tell him of what had occurred, or he would begin comparing her to her mother again, weak of heart and spirit.

Both knew in their hearts that that had not been the case, but it was easier for her father to believe that than to believe that Orwen had chosen death over him and their daughters. The day she finally gave up was the day he had begun to withdraw from them, and after all these years the girls had lost the inclination to fight for his affection, although Palen saw him more frequently than Keren.

"Tired?" He managed to make it sound like an illness.

She nodded uncomfortably, and the silence built again.

"Where is your sister?" he asked after a time.

"With Dannor. I am sure she will come to see you soon."

Keren was not at all sure, but felt it was the right thing to say. The small huff he gave through his nose indicated how much he believed her.

"You could always have come to find us you know," Keren found herself saying. "You are not injured, and you knew from Beregond when we were to arrive. Dannor was there to greet Palen."

Maleron did not reply.

"I suppose you do not wish to talk of the battle?" she asked tentatively. "But if you do I will listen."

"There isn't much to tell Keren," he said blankly. "I killed men and creatures who were trying to kill me. It had been long since I had had to fight, but things like that stick in your mind, and I survived."

Keren realised she was still standing rather than sitting companionably, but her father had not asked her to join him.

"Well, I am glad father," she said quietly, and then felt they had both said all that they had needed to. "Shall I send Palen to you?"

This would give her an excuse to leave at least.

He nodded, and she turned swiftly and walked away.

Maleron wanted to cry, but couldn't.

* * *

The next day Keren and the other healers were hard at work, as she had expected to be. She was sent all over the camp, tending those who had received particularly bad wounds from Easterling and Southron weapons. These skirmishes were still happening on a regular basis, as men were leaving Mordor and passing through Ithilien hoping to return to their homeland. Ithilien was now truly a part of Gondor once more, and the men of the West would defend it from any servant of the Black Land, regardless of whether their master was defeated or not.

Keren and Palen worked together for the most part, although at midday her sister was called away by the warden, who looked most confused. Palen appeared to know what it was about, but Keren looked blank as Pal walked in the direction of the forest. She assumed it was something to do with Merry, as he had said he would have no one to care for him other than Pal, but she was sure he was now in good health. She was soon busy enough to not wonder at Pal's whereabouts however.

Palen swallowed nervously as her feet brought her closer and closer to where the two hobbits lay. Merry had her hand in his, and Pippin was also walking beside her, looking a little pale but otherwise completely recovered.

"Gandalf has said he is happy for you to bind Frodo's hand," Merry said. "He trusts my word that you know what you are doing, don't worry." The hobbit beamed with pride that the great wizard respected his judgement.

"And Sam?" Palen asked tentatively.

"Samwise Gamgee is physically unhurt, mistress Palen," an old, deep voice replied from the shadows. "But much has his spirit endured, and he will awake after his master."

Palen gasped as she saw the wizard emerging from the trees. Mithrandir. She hastily curtsied. She had seen him briefly in the Houses of Healing, but never had he showed her attention or spoken to her before.

"Don't gape girl," he said, although there was friendly twinkle in his eye, and she thought his long beard was hiding a smile. "I did not intend to be here, but I find myself curious to meet the healer of whom Merry speaks with such praise."

"I am honoured, sir," she managed to say.

Gandalf chuckled and indicated that she should enter the tent.

"Tomorrow shall be the day they awaken," he said in a hushed tone. "I will lay them out on the soft grass outside, so they may look up at the trees and the sky. The enchantment will be lifted, and they shall be honoured as only saviours of the world should."

Palen stood in silent wonder as she looked down at the tiny figures stretched out on the basic camp beds. One dark, one fair, both thin, one almost skeletally so. The dark one was missing the third finger on his right hand.

"Yes, that is Frodo Baggins, and that is where Sauron's great weapon was torn from his hand," Gandalf explained.

He offered no more explanation, and she knew she would not get one if she asked. She felt tears grow in her eyes for these two strangers.

"It is right to weep for them," Mithrandir said, "for much have they endured to save you, and all the people of this Earth."

She nodded, then sniffed and pulled herself together – she was here to do a job.

"Where can I find clean dressings?" she asked swiftly, and Gandalf gave her an approving look from under his large eyebrows as she set to work.

* * *

The morning of the eighth of April dawned. Time was a strange thing to Keren lately. It felt as if she was living in an entirely separate universe from everyone else, and sometimes she was held in temporary paralysis, and sometimes she was sprinting through the days and lapping all those around her, waiting for them to catch up. She was trying not to be too hard on herself for dwelling on thoughts of Faramir whenever she got a moment to herself – for really not much time had passed at all since they were sat together cosily in his room by the light of a single candle.

And now here she was in Cormallen, preparing to attend a feast in a field, with many great men and lords, to praise two strange creatures called hobbits, of which she had only heard of less than a month ago.

Keren and Palen had completed the last of their rounds before the feast, checking that all the injured men were comfortable, and judging whether they were fit enough to attend the festivities, which were to begin as soon after noon as the two hobbits were ready.

The girls had brought nothing but their healer's uniform, but attempted to dress their hair as well as they could, as all had been invited to attend. The healers would, of course, be nowhere near the area where the King and the hobbits would be, but it was a fine excuse to enjoy themselves and eat and drink.

By noon the great undertaking of assembling the entire remaining army on the field was completed, and thousands stood ready to welcome the hobbits as they emerged on the top of the hill, where they could be seen by all. Keren stood in anticipation, for unlike her sister she was yet to see the two famous hobbits. She could not see much if truth be told – she could make out in the distance the three thrones of Elessar, Eomer and Prince Imrahil, sat on three natural grassy mounds, but she could not clearly see the men themselves, nor any surrounding the thrones as it was so crowded. She felt a lump grow in her throat as she saw the standard of the white tree of Gondor flying, as she was taken back in her mind to her first sight of Faramir when she was a child. If only she had known then where she would have been led to after choosing to follow that path.

A great bellowing of horns and trumpets began, and she looked over to the entrance of the forest, where a clearing had been made. Flanked by guards in the silver and black of Gondor, stood two tiny figures, dressed in, as far as she could see, nothing but rags. A huge cheer began, and all the men began to sing in their own languages, until a great cacophony of sound was ringing through the air as many different songs of praise were sung in different tongues.

It became difficult for the healers to see anything of import after that point, as so many spears and swords were shaken it was impossible to keep track of what was happening, and the hobbits were lost to their sight. Several times a cheer rang out, but they could only guess at what was taking place.

Suddenly all were silent, and a single voice rang out clear and strong. The healers could not hear the words, or even all of the notes, but the high passages of the song carried across to them feelings of pride and awe, as the melody flowed and soared.

The voice only stopped as the sun began to lower in the sky, and then all the soldiers rose and were commanded by their captains to go to the great tents that had been set up for feasting. This command was met with cheers, and the healers also looked forward to an evening of good food and drink. Keren and Palen looked at each other in laughing amusement at their good fortune in being involved in such an event, and as they walked arm in arm towards the feast Keren felt a little glimmer of something other than despair at the hand fate had dealt her.

The girls sat themselves down in a crowded corner with the other healers. They had hoped that they would be able to meet up with Beregond and Dannor, and Palen also, out of a sense of guilt at her delayed meeting with their father, wanted to spend some time celebrating with him. But all so was busy and chaotic that they found themselves rather isolated initially. It was only when the drinking began after the meal that they felt more able to wander around freely, and soon they met Dannor who had been on his way to find his wife. Dannor took them to Beregond, and the four of them passed a happy, rather drunken, couple of hours, spent mostly in laughter. Palen wished she could see Merry and the other hobbits enjoying themselves altogether again, but places in that pavilion were reserved for only those of the highest rank. They were close to it however, and could hear shouts, laughter and music coming from within.

"The new King must know how to host a good party!" Palen had to shout to be heard over the sounds of celebration.

"I wonder how long the hobbits will last before they tire?" Beregond wondered. "Merry and Pippin are strong, but for Frodo and Sam this must be a trial after all they have enjoyed."

"A trial, laughing and drinking with friends?" Dannor said. "I could do with more trials like that!"

Keren was silent. She had enjoyed the evening immensely, but every now and then a wave of melancholy would hit her as she remembered past events. She was trying not to show it however, and the rest of the evening passed all too quickly. Gradually the music began to die, the sound of snoring rose up from all the tents, and groups began to separate as folk went to their beds.

Keren's head was pleasantly light – just enough to let her know she had had a good time, and had been sensible enough to stop drinking before she made herself ill, or embarrassed herself by sobbing over everyone, which she was surprised had not happened if she was honest with herself.

Palen had nodded off on Dannor's shoulder and Beregond had fallen asleep where he sat, his arm cradling an empty tankard. She smiled at the good fortune of her friend, safe and able to return to his wife and child – he was entitled to celebrate tonight. Dannor smiled at Keren over his wife's head and whispered that perhaps it was time they all headed for their beds. Keren nodded automatically, but found that when she stood she was not at all tired, and did not follow them to the healers' tent.

Instead she walked, away from the now nearly silent field, and towards the gently rustling trees of the forest. She was strangely drawn to them, as if they were letting her know that they would provide her with solitude and peace, which she had not felt she had truly had since the night in the gardens of the Houses. She felt a bizarre need to take off her shoes as she stepped under the trees, the grass too soft and cool to be ignored. She smiled at her strangeness, glad there was no-one around to see.

The moon had long risen in the sky, and it cast its light timidly through the leaves overhead, coming down in beams. Keren did not feel afraid despite the shadows. She was careful not to wander too far however, going round and round the glade rather than further into the forest. Eventually she stopped dead, as she realised she had thought of nothing but Faramir the entire time, despite all that had happened that day, and sighed with annoyance at herself. The tears were threatening yet again, and she was starting not to recognise herself. She had always been quick to feel strong emotions, but she was not used to this relentless sadness which always seemed to be just below the surface.

She had stopped next to a tree with a very inviting space between its roots, as if it was offering her a seat, so there she sat, leaning her head back against the trunk. She could still see the dim light from the camp fires through the trees, so did not feel unsafe. But the folk sleeping in the field could have been the other side of the world, so closed off did she feel from everything. She just wanted Faramir, and she could not have him, he did not want her. She closed her eyes, feeling entirely alone, heartsick and lost.

 _Do you hear them calling,_

 _The voices of my people that have gone before me?_

 _I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me._

A voice came to her gently, as if it was blown on the wind itself from the very leaves of the trees.

She opened her eyes slowly, afraid she would see some wood sprite or tree spirit, but all was still and silent. The voice was growing nearer, and she looked into the shadows, wondering if the owner of it was close by.

 _In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,_

 _Where the leaves fall not; land of my people for ever!_

It was a strange sad melody, and she thought the words reminded her of something.

She smiled at the beauty of the voice and of the song and turned her head to look up at the moon shining down through the trees. It did not occur to her to move or to leave in case the singer was not as gentle as his song, but rather she felt entirely at peace, almost as if she was a part of the forest, just watching and waiting for this singing intruder to pass by.

The song ended and she sighed sadly, but did not realise that she had done so.

"Well met Keren daughter of Maleron," a gentle voice said.

Keren hastily turned her head at the sound of her name, and saw who it was who had been singing of his people. The silvery hair, the pointed ears, the bare feet, all were familiar. She was silent as the Prince of Mirkwood stood before her once more.

* * *

 **Author note - If anyone is wondering about Frodo and Sam's enchanted sleep, I figured that a fortnight is a long time with no food or drink - there's no IV in Middle Earth haha - so their sleep is magical in quality. I thought a good explanation for the amount of time that passes between them being rescued from Mount Doom and waking up in Cormallen would be that Gandalf had done something funky to help them heal as they slept. Hope it makes sense. I tripled checked Tolkien's timings before putting it in, and yes they really are asleep that long. Also don't ask why I've had Legolas have bare feet so much in the story so far. I don't know haha. But now Keren's getting in on the act too. I'm thinking maybe they feel closer to nature with their shoes off and grass under their feet, I certainly do, so whenever he's under the trees, off the shoes go?!**


	12. Chapter Twelve - The oak tree

**Author note: I'm just as surprised as you all to discover that I'm getting another chapter up so quickly! This is what happens when you don't have to work much over Christmas ;) Also it's another Keren and Legolas moment, and tbh they just write themselves when they're together so I got it done very quickly :) Sometimes I read a page back and go, 'I have no memory of creating that sentence' haha!**

 **Thanks to Castiel's Lady, Mesi-miko, alter321, clsflames, , ForeverTeamEdward13, canadianshorebird and golden-priestess for the follows and favs :)**

 **Rachetg - Yay for Palen and Dannor being reunited. These two will weave in and out of the story, there was no way I was going to kill him off ;) And as for Keren and Legolas, this chapter does not feature anyone else, just the two of them (and a tree).**

 **jshaw0624 - Thanks for sticking with the story despite all the recent delays! I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Its not exactly action packed, but its more character development for these two :)**

 **Guest - Thank you so much, oh mysterious guest! I hope you enjoy where the story goes.**

 **ForeverTeamEdward13 - Thanks, I should be updating regularly now. However, just like Keren I've learnt that you never know what might happen in life haha so I don't give myself deadlines anymore!**

 **Zip001 - Your latest review really made me smile as it summed up exactly what I was aiming to put across, so thanks for letting me know I got that right! I feel Beregond is overlooked, and is a great character from the books, so he features quite prominently in Keren's life. Her relationship with her father will come to the fore later on in the story, and you will find out just why they are so horribly distant. But for now, here is a welcome distraction for Keren from her Faramir-related swirl of grim-ness, in the shape of... you know who.**

 **Happy new year! x**

 **PS. the song featured is of course Tolkien's.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve – The oak tree**

Legolas had left his friends as they had gone to their beds. He had no real need of sleep, and had allowed his long legs to lead him towards the Anduin, where he stood for a short while on the shore, all the time singing of his home and his uncertain future across the sea.

After a time he felt called to venture back up the hill, past the tents in the field, and further into the forests of Ithilien. He had already decided, despite spending such a short time there, that this land would suit his people well, and that he would be the one to start a new life for them, for as long as he was to remain on Middle Earth. Ithilien felt like his home, but closer to the sea, and further from his father.

He found himself singing again as the trees began to close in around him, feeling as though they welcomed him, as if they knew of his plans. Nowhere was he happier as amongst the trees – for as long as he could remember they had cleared his thoughts and eased his troubles. This was the reason he was so frustrated with his obsession with the sea, for it did not bring him happiness or comfort like the forests did, but he knew it was something that came to all of his kind eventually, some quicker than others. His father certainly showed no sign of wishing to depart for Valinor.

He repeated his earlier song, the words taking on a different meaning now he was alone without the river, ever searching down to the sea, to distract him.

 _To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,_

 _The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying._

 _West, west away, the round sun is falling._

 _Grey ship, grey ship…_

He stopped in his tracks as a familiar but entirely unexpected figure came into view. Sat nestled between two large roots of an ancient oak tree was the strange girl from the Houses of Healing. Keren, he remembered. Her head was resting back against the gnarled trunk, eyes closed, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms hugging her legs. She looked very small, and yet entirely at home, although he noticed she was still in her healers' uniform.

He had oddly enjoyed their last meeting. Something intrigued him about this very ordinary human who nevertheless had a strange quality about her – the power of crystals for one, and her closeness to his people which she was either genuinely ignorant of, or was determined to deny.

She looked peaceful yet sad, and he was loath to disturb her thoughts. And yet a small spark of mischief reared up in his soul, without him being aware, and he found himself singing once more, and not attempting to sing quietly either.

 _…_ _do you hear them calling,_

 _The voices of my people that have gone before me?_

 _I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;_

 _For our days are ending and our years failing._

He watched as her eyes slowly opened and she became aware of his voice. He did not wish to scare her of course, but he felt a strange comfort that someone could hear him, and perhaps could hear the sadness in his voice. He was still hidden from her sight, deep within the trees, and yet his feet were taking him closer and closer, and he knew then that once more would they speak, and no doubt once more he would answer a dozen of her questions about his people. He continued with his song.

 _I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing._

 _Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,_

 _Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling…_

She unnervingly turned her head and looked in his exact direction, and if she had had elven eyes she would have seen him, but he could tell that her stare was blank, and she saw only shadows. Then something strange happened – she turned her head away and smiled, seemingly totally unconcerned that she was no longer alone. This was a change to the girl who ran from him in the gardens, not even a month ago. She looked entirely at peace and at home, and he again felt unsure as to whether he should disturb her. But so sweet was the expression on her face that he ascertained that she drew pleasure from his song, and perhaps on some hidden level, from his presence, so he sang the final few lines as he made his way through the last of the trees around the clearing, until he stood at the edge of the glade.

 _…_ _In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,_

 _Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!_

Still she did not see him as she had her head turned up to the moon which shone over the field of Cormallen, but she let out a deep sigh, both relaxed and yet, it seemed to him, terribly sad. Just like at their first meeting he felt a need to let her know that he was witness to her feelings, so he spoke up, knowing that she would recognise his voice.

"Well met Keren daughter of Maleron," he said softly.

Her head spun quickly round at the sound of her name, as he had expected, but he hoped that she would recognise him and feel at ease rather than be wary of his presence now she knew who it was who had been singing.

Keren did immediately recognise him, but she was not entirely at ease.

"Well met," she managed to say after what felt like too long.

Legolas immediately regretted making his presence known, as the girl, apparently unbeknownst to her, had wet eyes and cheeks.

"I have disturbed you, my apologies," he said. "I will leave you to your thoughts."

He gave a slight bow of his head and made to return to the camp, but to his surprise the girl sat up, and for one odd moment looked as if she wanted to run to him.

"No, don't go!" Keren said quickly. The last thing she wanted was for her thoughts to take over again. She was only just becoming aware of the tears she had shed, and she did not wish to be left alone with only them for company. She had shocked herself with her sudden reply however, and she attempted to appear unbothered. "I mean, do not feel you have to go."

But then she realised she had just practically begged a stranger, and a decidedly strange stranger at that, to stay with her in this deserted spot.

"Although of course, go if you wish," she ended lamely.

Legolas smiled. She was as awkward as he remembered.

"I shall stay a little while, with your permission", he said, respectfully keeping his distance, as he remembered her running from his close proximity to her before.

Keren nodded and shifted a little to make herself comfortable. Legolas noticed her bare feet which were now crossed beneath her. He hid a smile at how this girl claimed she had no connection with the elves, and yet here she was sat communicating with the earth and the trees without even realising.

"Much has changed since our last meeting," Legolas said, and Keren regarded the elf with surprise. How did he know what had happened to her? Was he reading her mind?

But then she felt an overwhelming urge to roll her eyes at her stupidity, for of course he was not speaking of her unrequited love for Faramir and subsequent upheaval, he was speaking of the far more important event of the destruction of Sauron and subsequent saving of Middle Earth.

 _Idiot_ , she thought, and almost laughed, which took her by surprise. She instead gave a wry smile and spoke true.

"I feel as if the whole world has changed."

Legolas was again confused by the sadness in her voice. Surely she was rejoicing, as all were, at the downfall of such great evil. He could see however, how overwhelming life must be for humans – such a short time did they have to adapt to all the many twists and turns.

"The world is always changing," he said, "and we must do our best to keep up with it, or risk being lost."

Keren was silent again as she took in his words, which echoed her thoughts of late.

Legolas sensed that something of great import must have befallen her as he watched her face grow solemn and sad. Tears threatened to spill over and run down her cheeks once more, and she hastily looked down in embarrassment, brushing at her eyes almost angrily. He felt the need to say something to comfort her, although he knew his advice would be vague as he did not know her circumstances, and he was not about to ask her.

"Sometimes," he began softly, "when we feel as if we are so lost that we can never be found, that is when we can give ourselves the time to learn who we truly are, so we can find our way to what we truly want."

Keren looked up at him. His soft voice spoke with the wisdom of the ages – just how old was he? She was reminded just how ancient and powerful the race of elves was. Why they even had their own kind of magic, she had read, with some able to read minds and tell the trees to do their bidding. She wondered for the second time if the prince was reading her thoughts now, as he seemed to give her the exact reassurance that she needed. She was too frightened of his answer to ask however.

She did not wish to tell him of all that had occurred, and tried, as she had been doing constantly since her departure from Minas Tirith, to hide her sadness deep within. She decided to change the subject.

"What were you singing of?" she asked, and immediately regretted her choice of question, as she realised it may not be something he wished to share with her. It was his turn for his face to become grave, but he answered fairly enough.

"Do you remember at our first meeting, I told you that I knew I was destined to sail away from the shores of Middle Earth? It is a song of that journey, of my own making. But I do not yet know when that time will come – I feel there is much I can aid my friends here with before I depart."

He did not give any further details, which sparked Keren's curiosity. But something did not make sense to her.

"You sound as if you would leave tomorrow if you could," she said, and the thought of him sailing away, of all the elves leaving for distant shores, made her strangely sad. The elf remained silent.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I do not mean to pry."

He smiled weakly and shook his head.

"Nay, do not apologise. It is a strange circumstance I am in. The desire to leave these shores is very strong, and yet I know within my soul that it is not my time yet, there is still something for me to accomplish here. I will know, when there is nothing left for me here, that that is when I must depart."

"So for now you will just depress yourself with sad songs?" Keren heard herself say, with no thought as to why she had chosen to say that, for had she not been dwelling on her own sadness, which made her just as bad?

"Departing is not necessarily a sadness," Legolas replied.

"Do you not find it sad that you cannot change your fate?" Keren asked.

Legolas considered her question carefully, and took, to Keren, a maddeningly long time to answer.

"Sad?" he said quietly, as if trying to feel what that word truly meant to him. "No. And who is to say that it will not change? Do you believe it can?"

Keren did not know how to reply. As far as her own fate was concerned she could not believe that her prophecy would fail to come to pass, but really, how was she on the right path now? She felt like somewhere she must have taken a wrong step, and kept desperately trying to pinpoint how and when. Something she had said to Faramir, or done? Or not done? She had been torturing herself with questions. She had come to the conclusion that she was powerless over her own life, and it was that devastating realisation that she told the elf.

"Fate seems to have ideas for me that I had not considered," she began. "I feel… I feel like I am a little boat on a rough sea, and all my life I have been aiming for one particular shore. But now that shore has crumbled into the waters, so I have no destination, I know not where I am heading, and that frightens me. How do I know what step to take next if I don't know where I'm aiming for?"

All her worries and fears came tumbling out to the elf, a near stranger, but she could not help it. She had spoken to no one of this – her total doubt over her future, her sadness over the potential future stolen from her. She had not even realised how concerned she was about it all until it had just at that moment been said.

She looked at the prince, mortified that she had spilled her soul to him.

He was studying her with a calm and thoughtful look. Still he did not ask her what had happened. Finally he spoke.

"I do think that things are ordained, are planned for us," he said, "but that is not to say we cannot change what is planned. I have lived many years, and some things in my life I have expected, and some I have not. Some have had the strange feeling of fate about them, but most have not. Some things I have chosen to happen, and some I have not. But I have learnt that it is not about making the right choice, as no such thing exists. There are just choices, opportunities given to us that we can either take or ignore. But neither decision, yes or no, is the right one. We must just be grateful that we have the ability to choose."

"But I did not choose for him to – " Keren began, then stopped short. She was not sure how much more she wanted to tell the elf.

She realised how strange their conversation was – how after just a few minutes, and without asking anything of her troubles, he had given her words of encouragement that she felt she had needed to hear.

Legolas did not press her as to what she meant by her unfinished sentence, but instead went on with his advice.

"Sometimes not choosing, not making any decisions at all, is the right path. Sometimes we must just allow the flow of life to take over, and trust it knows what is best for us. Some of the lessons it brings us may be hard ones, but we are here to learn and to grow. Sometimes this brings great change, and whenever any great change occurs we need time and space to process and to think, to react. In such times nature is my great friend, and it seems is yours too, although perhaps you do not realise that yet."

Keren looked up at the tree branches sheltering her, hearing the gentle wind from the river blow through the new spring leaves. It was true, she realised – she had turned to nature lately whenever she had felt the need to be alone, and it had begun after her first meeting with the elf. And now here the two of them were underneath the trees again, and she was upset, again, and confused at his words, again.

She had somehow known, when she saw his pale face lit by the moon once more, that they were about to have another intense conversation – and indeed so far he was delivering on that count. So deep and mysterious was his advice that she almost felt more lost than before.

She had not moved from her spot underneath the oak tree, although she noticed she had turned her body to face the elf without realising, her shoulder leaning on the trunk.

Legolas had noticed this and had gradually moved closer to her as he spoke, feeling her relax a little in his presence. He studied her fëa surreptitiously now that he was closer. It still had that strange glow about it that showed her love for crystals, and theirs for her, was still strong. The feeling of fear and uncertainty emanating from it at their last meeting, however, had not lessened, despite the obvious cause of terror coming from Mordor being destroyed. It was not stronger than before, but was different, accompanied by a deep sadness. What had happened to her in these past few weeks? Something that had changed her whole view on life? She had not responded to his comment about her closeness with the natural world, so he imagined she would not take well to his asking whether she was any nearer to understanding why she was also close to elves. Now was not the time. He felt a little awkward standing over her, but did not want to sit right beside her. Memories of them so close underneath the willow tree in the gardens of the Houses troubled him – he had not known that he could be so threatening to anyone that he did not intend to find him so.

"May I join you?" he asked, and was clear to indicate the bough of the tree above her head as his intended resting place.

She seemed surprised at his request, but smiled gently and nodded.

In one swift move he climbed the short distance to the lowest branch, old and gnarled, but sturdy. He whispered a quick greeting to the tree, which Keren did not catch, and would not have understood even if she had, and settled into the bough, his back to the trunk. He took up his usual position of one leg stretched along the branch, the other bent, his arm resting on it. He could feel the rough, knotted wood with the soles of his bare feet, his boots lying abandoned at the edge of the forest. It had not been practical for him to sit thus on his journey with his companions for any great length of time, nor to remove his shoes so that he could better feel the earth and its power. Now he was revelling in the freedom of being able to do as he pleased, and was not at all self-conscious that there just happened to be a human sharing this reflective moment with him. She appeared to be having a similar moment herself.

Keren was surprised how comfortable she felt in the elf's presence this time around. She decided that it was his eyes that had unnerved her that night in the gardens, as she could not see their colour, only their depth and their intensity. All the while she avoided his gaze she felt strangely at ease, and now there was no chance of meeting it, for he sat just above her. She could, in fact, see nothing of him, and if it was not for the fact that she had seen him climb up, she would not have known he was there, so silent was he.

They sat in silence for some time, neither wishing to ask the other what had brought them to the forest, what thoughts echoed in their brain. Keren had a myriad of questions running through her head however. She longed to ask him how old he was, what he had seen, where he had journeyed. She wanted to ask him of his home, his family, his history. And she wished to know more of his journey here, the hobbits, the King, the wizard, and what they had encountered. But there, in that quiet time in the tree, it did not feel like the right time to ask, despite the fact that she knew she may not see him again.

"I am curious." His soft voice brought her out of her reverie. "The last time you were alone in my company you fled, and yet now you are content to sit here with me, when there is no one nearby. What has changed?"

Keren thought awhile before answering.

 _Because last time your face was barely three inches from my own and your eyes bored into me as if you could see my soul._

She was fairly sure that would not be an appropriate response. She settled on another honest reply however.

"So much has happened to me, so many strange things since last we met. I cannot predict from one day to the next what will happen. And I suppose you are not so strange this time. Or rather I know what to expect."

He chuckled.

"You expect my strange-ness?"

"Although you are behaving rather normally this time. I cannot say it is strange that you seek solitude, nor roam barefoot, for am I not doing the same? I draw the line at talking to trees though," she said with a smile.

"Give it time," he said, and she felt she could hear him smiling back.

"I thought much on what you said to me before," she admitted. "About my affinity with your people."

Legolas was silent in order to let her continue unhurried. He was greatly surprised that she had brought it up.

"The night we met, your last words frightened me, as you know," she went on. "And I still do not understand what you meant, although my thoughts have been… a little distracted of late."

In truth she had not given a single thought to his words since that night, for Faramir had taken over both her heart and her mind.

"It will be up to you to decide when to learn more about it." His voice carried to her from above her head, giving her the strange impression that the tree itself was speaking. "But know that I did not mention it just to confuse or frighten you. There is certainly something for you to learn, and I admit I am intrigued as to what you will discover."

Keren frowned to herself – she was in no mood to discover anything about herself, other than what on earth to do next with her life.

"But I will not press you as I did at our first meeting," the elf went on. "Although you are still a mystery to me, and no doubt would be to any of my kind that met you."

"I feel as if I am a mystery to myself most of the time," Keren admitted. "And as for trying to understand other people… I have given up."

Legolas noticed the sad strain in her voice had returned. He had initially thought she had suffered great grief at someone's passing, but now he felt he was beginning to understand the heart of the matter. He remembered when they had met in the gardens she had stuttered over a man's name, her eyes betraying her emotions. The new steward of Gondor, Boromir's brother. Could separation from him be the cause of her earlier tears?

"You for example," she continued unexpectedly. "There is much about you that is unfamiliar and unknown to me, and yet something oddly recognisable too. You are almost like a human sometimes. I did not expect an elf to – "

She faltered, as if just realising that she was speaking aloud.

"Go on," he said, intrigued by her perception of him.

"Well you are strange, there is no denying that. I admit I was…unsettled after our meeting, for one moment we were talking quite normally, even companionably, given that we were – are – strangers. And then the next you were intense and rather more like the description you gave of yourself, so I ran. But this time you appear to have done the reverse. I was startled just now when I first saw you, and found your advice hard to even understand, but rather quickly I have found your company to be… tolerable."

The elf was quiet for what felt a long while, and Keren was worried that she had offended him. But then finally he spoke.

"My description of myself – you mean of my kind, the woodelves?"

"Wild and dangerous you told me. The wild I am starting to understand," she said, turning for the first time to look up at him. She did not have to indicate what she meant, for Legolas knew he looked almost a part of the tree, dressed in green and brown, feet bare and long hair falling past his shoulders. "The dangerous, of that I am not sure."

"Ah, remember I am only Silvan when I choose to be," he said, raising an eyebrow. "When I myself face danger, that is when I let that side of me show. And you are most certainly not dangerous."

There was a pause, and Keren actually dared to meet his eye and hold his gaze. She may not be dangerous, but she was at that moment feeling rather brave.

"And yet you said yourself I am a mystery to you," she said. "And is not the unknown dangerous?"

Keren gasped as suddenly the elf was crouched at her feet, having jumped silently down from the bough as soon as she had finished speaking.

"The unknown can also be the unexpected, which can of course take us by surprise," he said, ending with a chuckle. "So yes, it can be dangerous. But if we keep our wits about us, the unknown can be full of wonder."

Keren could only blink.

"And with that, I shall bid you farewell," he said, and stood gracefully, towering over Keren as she still sat hunched between the roots of the tree. "I must retrieve my shoes."

He bowed low to her and swiftly turned to walk away into the trees.

"Wait!" Keren found herself crying. She wanted to part on better terms this time.

Legolas turned back, and saw the girl had stood to say goodbye.

"Thank you," she said, "for your advice, and your company."

"My tolerable company?" he said with a smile. "Do not think I did not notice you had called it so."

"Believe me, I have found company of any kind… difficult recently," she replied. "It is a compliment."

The silence grew between them once more. Both knew that this would no doubt be their last conversation. Brief though their time together had been, they had shared much at both their meetings, and Legolas was oddly saddened that he would probably never know her secrets. He hoped that she would find them out for herself one day.

Keren felt the sounds of the forest start to creep in as the silence became, in her mind, uncomfortable. She was, this time, loath to end their time together, for here was another rare opportunity to find out more about elf-kind. But he had made it plain that he wished to leave.

"Farewell," she said awkwardly as they stood facing each other, this time, in Keren's mind, a more socially acceptable distance away.

"Cuio vê, Keren," he said seriously, for jests aside he had judged her earlier thanks to be in earnest. "No gelin idh raid lîn."

He knew not why he had chosen to speak in his tongue rather than hers, but it was done now, and she did not ask what he meant. He liked to think she understood, although of course that was foolish. Such a strange girl. He bowed his head slightly once more, then turned to walk below the trees, silently wishing her well. She was so very young, but he was wise enough to know that the young did not necessarily get over heartbreak quickly. He hoped her short life would bring her more joy than pain.

Keren stood completely still, with, she would be mortified to realise, her mouth slightly open with shock. She had absolutely no idea what the elf had just said to her, but the strange words transported her to somewhere entirely new and unfamiliar. She wished she could call him back and ask him what he meant, or even just to repeat it, so beautiful was the sound, but he had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

She sighed. The elf – that mysterious, confusing, frightening, distracting figure – was lost to her, and she was once more alone with her thoughts. The moon still shone down through the branches, the breeze still blew up the field from the river – all was as it had been before, as if he had never existed.

As if their meeting had been nothing more than a dream.

"Farewell," she whispered to the trees.

* * *

 **Author note: I am soooo tempted to give you the translation of what he said to her, but I would quite like to echo the curiosity that Keren is feeling by leaving you in the dark. Of course there is always Google haha, but if you would rather wait - a little teaser - one day she will find out what he meant, *and* be able to reply. But how, why, where?! Hee hee.**


	13. Chapter Thirteen - The King is crowned

**Author note: I am on a roll! Seriously, what is happening, I am writing so quickly lately!**

 **Thanks to heyitsJace, Nbr2twin, WickedGreene13, Cutedxlls, NameWithNoMeaning, WatcherOnTheWall and qantaqa for the follows and favs :)**

 **Rachetg - Thanks! I love writing them conversing together, I adore them both!**

 **jshaw0624 - Thank you :) Yes it is verrryy slooowww building up their interactions, but it will be worth it eeeeevvvveeennntuuuaaallllyyyy (God I hope it will be worth it...).**

 **qantaqa - I know what you mean, I feel the same about some of the stories on here, just update already haha! I'm honoured that you think mine is that enjoyable, so thank you and I hope you enjoy the rest of it (I've barely scratched the surface of the story btw).**

 **alter321 - Oh the prophecy! She has totally shaped her life around it, and I guess it's up to the reader to judge if that's brave or stupid to put so much faith in something. It's all about how she deals with the fall-out now. But who's to say whether it was entirely untrue? ;)**

 **WickedGreene13 - Wow, thanks for taking the time to review as you read, I was so touched to see all your comments in one go! I really want to keep people guessing about the whole Faramir/Legolas thing. I love them both so it was hard for me to choose for her, but I have and I'm sticking with my decision! I really hope you keep enjoying it. (And yay for another fan of barefoot Legolas! Why is it sexy? Is it just me that thinks it is? I don't know lol).**

 **Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from Tolkien, so I feel like this time it's actually worthwhile saying I don't own those bits or indeed any of his characters, places, random objects etc etc etc. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen – The King is crowned**

Keren awoke the next morning with more energy than she had felt for a long time. After the elf had gone she had found her way back to the healers' tent where she had slept undisturbed, and woken with a clear head and bright eyes, unlike Palen who was nursing the effect of too much ale the night before. She set to work with determination and genuine pleasure at helping those in need.

Thus the days passed at Cormallen. She did find her mind wandering to Faramir, particularly late at night or when the daylight hours were quiet, but usually she had something to occupy her time. Every few days men returned to the camp after scouting the land for Southrons and Easterlings, and sometimes they were sorely wounded, for the enemy were not willing to leave without a fight. Keren and Palen found themselves busy tending to them for most of their time in the camp.

The girls did however have much free time, and this they spent, when they could, in each others' company. Beregond and Dannor were often with them too, and Palen even visited their father every other day. Keren joined her when the mood took her.

Some of their happiest hours at Cormallen, however, were spent in the company of the hobbits. Keren did not realise how much the youngest, Pippin, had befriended Beregond, and often the three of them would sit sharing funny tales and jokes. Merry would sometimes join them, and after a few days of encouragement, the two others.

Keren did not know how to act around Frodo and Samwise – they were far quieter than their companions, although still quick to smile, and had as great an appetite for food and beer. They did not speak of their time in the Black Land, nor was she sure that she wanted to hear of it, but it was clear to her that they shared a strong bond after their trials.

Keren, Palen and Dannor would sit silently in awe as they shared tales of their adventures, and listened with quiet respect as they described their homeland.

The girls knew that their grandmother, whom Keren had been named after, had been born in Bree, which the hobbits had passed through on their journey. It was, they were amazed to discover, where the hobbits had met the King, although he had been in a different guise then.

When they asked the girls why the family had ended up so far to the south they could not answer, for their mother had never shared the tale. Listening to the story of the hobbits journey, however, made them realise how far their ancestors must have travelled.

As the days passed into weeks, most evenings this strange small group of two girls, four hobbits and two men would meet. Keren always looked forward to her time with them, but as time went by she began to notice something that troubled her. Beregond, rather than becoming more joyful at the prospect of his return home, which must surely be growing near, seemed on edge and anxious. Whenever mention was made of the city, of Faramir – during which times Keren fought desperately hard to remain indifferent – or the citadel, he would grow grim and silent. Once a flicker of fear passed over his face, and she longed to ask what troubled him.

She waited for a quiet moment as they were leaving the hobbits' tent one night, but he brushed off her questions and she did not press the matter further. She continued to watch him however.

Almost two weeks had passed by when the last of the troops returned from Mordor. Their grim and pale faces were proof of the dark forces that still lingered there, for long would it be before that land was fit for habitation again. It was on these men that Keren witnessed the King's skill at healing once more, for as much as she could heal their physical wounds, there was little she and the other healers could do to cure their low spirits as he could. It seemed to Keren that he worked a strange kind of magic, and once she was even tempted to ask him if he could cure the pain in her heart. But then the elf's words came back to her.

 _When we feel as if we are so lost that we can never be found, that is when we can give ourselves the time to learn who we truly are, so we can find our way to what we truly want_.

Keren felt she had not worked out yet what she wanted, other than Faramir, so perhaps she was meant to endure this pain until she had. It was not an encouraging thought.

She had thought of the elf often, unlike the time before, and it was frustrating to know that this time he was in the same vicinity as her. Only now their meeting was done had she thought of the many questions she could have asked him about his people. But it was highly unlikely they would meet again.

Despite all the hours she spent with the hobbits, and the brief time she had seen the King, the rest of that illustrious company seemed to keep themselves to themselves. The wizard, the elf and the dwarf she knew spent time with the hobbits, but understandably always at different times to her and her friends. The King of Rohan she actively tried to avoid due to his association with all that had occurred, but she was fortunate, as their paths did not cross again.

* * *

The month of April was nearing its end, and Keren was beginning to wonder just how long they would have to remain at Cormallen, for eventually all the sick were healed, and all the men were well rested. There was now little for the healers to do.

Then came the announcement from the warden – they were to make ready to leave the next day. Keren was not entirely sure how to take the news of their return. She would be pleased to go home, back to familiarity, but it would mean returning to the place of her heartbreak, and there would of course be a chance of seeing Faramir again, which her mind dreaded but her heart longed for.

Cormallen had been an exciting time for her, and beneficial to her spirit too, for a firm friendship had been formed between the two sisters and the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin.

The four of them plus Dannor and Beregond spent a final night of companionship together, and they were all loath to be parted, for they did not know when they would see each other again. No doubt the hobbits would be close to the King in the following days, and when Keren asked Beregond what he would do he replied shortly that he knew not.

The morning of the twenty eighth of April dawned, and all had been packed up. A little over three weeks in all Keren had been away from home, and as with the rest of her time of late, sometimes it had felt like months, and others but a few days. She was surprised to see the entire camp being cleared – it was not just the healers that were going home, but the whole great host of men.

Once more they crossed the Anduin, although it took the best part of a day for all to land at Cair Andros, so there they stayed for a night. As Keren settled down to sleep on the deck under the stars once more she wondered whether her time at Cormallen had changed her. She decided not, for still her heart was aching, and still the tears threatened at quiet moments. She had not forgotten her crystal however, for it had remained in her pocket as always, and now she held it tight as she shut her eyes. No words of wisdom had she gained from it, but then she had not asked, and she belatedly wondered why that was.

The next day all sailed down the great river to Osgiliath, and it was here that the healers and servants parted ways from the army. Their belongings loaded into the wagons once more, they set off across the Pelennor towards home.

Keren watched as the small white speck in the distance gradually became the familiar site of her city – the distinct circles, the white walls, the towering point of the White Tower – all beneath the giant mountain of Mindolluin with its great heft of rock cutting through the centre. She spied out the sixth level where her home was within the Houses, and could even see the spot on the walls which she now associated with grief. She lowered her eyes hastily and tried to think of other things.

She looked back to Osgiliath, where the host were to remain for one day and night. Somewhere amongst the ruins were her friends and her father. No doubt the hobbits, as the King's close friends, were to travel with him tomorrow. For on that day, the last day of April, they were to journey with the army to the fields of the Pelennor, healing now after the great battle fought on the once lush grass, and make camp together one last time. For on the first day of May the King was to be crowned.

* * *

It was a different city that the healers returned to. The women and children had returned, bearing flowers from the countryside where they had stayed safely away from the fighting. Folk from all across Gondor had somehow found space to stay, and amongst them were skilled singers and musicians, all aiming to compose and perform great masterpieces of these the golden days of their country. The city still bore the scars of the siege, for some time would pass before a plan could be put in place for the repair of the walls and gates, but the Houses of Healing were reassuringly unchanged as the small group made their way up to the great front door.

Ioreth was there to welcome them all, and Bergil peeked from behind her back and, spotting Keren, waved happily. He helped the girls take their belongings to their room, immediately asking after his father.

"Mother had a letter from him," he explained, "but it's not the same as seeing him and knowing he is well."

"He is well Bergil, have no fear," Palen replied. "We have spent many happy hours with him."

Keren was silent, for she did not wish to comment on what she had perceived to be her friends' strange humour of late. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she did not want to worry Bergil.

"And you have been alright Bergil?" she asked instead.

"Oh, more than alright, apart from worrying about father of course. Ioreth has had me assisting her rather than just running messages. But mother and Borlas returned a few days ago, so everything is back to normal now. Now all we need is father. Do you want me to help you unpack?"

His rushing babble was another thing that was familiar and comforting. Keren felt great relief that he was safe and well, for Beregond had asked her to watch him whilst he was away, and then she had up and ran away to Cormallen herself with no thought for him at all. Really, she did not like how selfish her sadness made her. She vowed silently to herself that she would make up for it.

"There is to be a meal all together tomorrow, to celebrate all of the healers being back together," he went on. "The Lady Eowyn is to be guest of honour."

Palen noticed two things simultaneously – Bergil went red, and Keren went white.

"She is very beautiful," he said simply, obviously aware that he was blushing. "She is staying here in the Houses, for she does not wish to leave us, imagine! She says it is here that she found her happiness. Oh, but wait, you might not have heard the news, her and the Lord Fara – "

"We have heard Bergil," Palen said quickly. "News was brought to our camp."

"Isn't it wonderful?" he beamed. "For he is so handsome and wise, and she is so fair and brave, it is like something from the old tales! And they fell in love here, in the gloomy old Houses! Well, not that gloomy I suppose, but – "

"It is indeed a lovely story." Palen forced a smile. "Bergil, we do not need your assistance unpacking, but you could go to Ioreth for us and ask if there are any duties we could be getting on with, as neither of us are in need of rest."

Bergil looked a little disappointed at being dismissed, but quickly went off to do Palen's bidding.

"Keren, oh Keren, I'm sorry," Palen said quietly. "He was not to know."

"It's really happening isn't it?" Keren managed to say. "They will marry."

"It appears so."

"And it will be all people speak of here, I will never escape it, and she will live here in the city with him, and I will have to see them together, and they will have children, and be happy, and I – "

"Keren," Palen said hastily. "Keren, stop."

There was silence as Keren became aware of her surroundings, of how she had sank onto the edge of her bed, of Palen kneeling at her feet, strong hands on her arms, bracing her back to reality.

"Oh, Pal," she whispered. "I can't… I just can't do this anymore."

"Nonsense," her sister said brusquely, trying to hide the fear in her voice from hearing her little sister speak so again, just as she had after the death of their mother. "Of course you can. Why you were almost back to your old self at Cormallen. It was just a shock to you, hearing that she is here."

"I can't face her."

"Yes you can, and you will. Tonight we will both sleep well, tomorrow we shall go to the meal, and we will both eat and drink and celebrate that our city was saved. Celebrate that we are alive in such times, and get to see a King crowned, and meet folk who we only knew as strange figures from tales."

"The elf," Keren said numbly. "Legolas."

Palen raised her eyebrows in surprise.

" _Prince_ Legolas," she said, "of Mirkwood? Merry introduced him to me and Dan."

"Just Legolas, he said," Keren said cryptically. "I am glad I got to meet him."

"When did you?" Palen was intrigued, for her sister had made no mention of him before.

"Here, in the gardens, before… everything happened. And then the night of the feast at Cormallen. We spoke of many things."

"Oh," was all Palen could say in reply.

* * *

Ioreth gave the girls the evening to recover from their travels, although despite going to bed early Keren did not sleep well, lying awake with grim anticipation of what the meeting with Eowyn would bring.

During the morning she attempted to keep herself busy by sorting out the store room, returning things taken to Cormallen that had not been used to near enough their rightful places. But the midday meal was drawing near, and she found she had no appetite as she began to walk to the dining hall.

The girls were careful to take their seats as far away from the main table as they could, for there Eowyn was to sit with the warden and Ioreth.

Just after twelve the warden appeared, the White Lady of Rohan on his arm. All stood and bowed. Keren managed to rise and grit her teeth, bobbing into an awkward curtsey as she passed by, but no one seemed to notice anything amiss. She did not look up, so did not see that the lady smiled on her in recognition of her good care and companionship. Palen thought it best not to tell her sister what she had missed, but she gave the lady a genuine smile in return as she received similar attention. She had grown to respect Eowyn while she was under her care, and Palen had to admit the lady did not know of Keren's strange infatuation with Faramir, so she could not bring herself to dislike her for what had happened. None of her actions had been malicious or knowingly cruel, it was all just unfortunate timing.

All took their seats and the food and drink was passed around. Keren's hands were shaking. Palen nudged her knee gently under the table, and she took a deep breath and bit into a bread roll, which to her tasted of dust. Many roasted meats with rich sauces were brought out, but Keren only felt nauseous. She looked down at her plate as a battle to be fought.

"Eat," Palen whispered.

Keren risked a look at the lady. She was still beautiful – even fairer than she had been before, for now she was healed and happy.

"Keren." Palen's voice. "Do not stare. Eat."

Keren ate, and looked no more on the lady. But she tasted nothing.

The afternoon seemed to go on for eternity, and she practically jumped out of her seat when Eowyn left, indicating the end of the formal meal. She wished to be on her own for a while – there would be enough time for celebrating tomorrow at the coronation.

Normally, when she was in a reflective mood such as this, she found her feet going to the gardens and her spot by the walls overlooking the Pelennor, but now that place was forever tainted by what she had witnessed there, and she felt she would not find peace there again.

 _Another thing that has been taken from me_.

She instead went back to her room and straight to bed, giving herself the excuse that tomorrow would be a long day.

If she had stopped to look out of her window she would have seen, as thousands did that night, the tents of the host being set up, for they had marched that day from Osgiliath to the Pelennor. As night fell their torches were lit, and they eagerly awaited the coming of the sun, for when dawn broke the ceremony would begin.

* * *

Keren was shivering from a mixture of both the cold of the early morning and anticipation. She wondered if anyone in the city was still asleep at this moment. For though it was still dark, people in their thousands had made their way down through the levels of the city and onto the plains outside where the great gate had stood. The healers had left earlier than most, for, as thanks for their hard work during the darkest hours of the siege, they had a prime position for viewing the event that was to come.

She could not help but be excited for what she was about to witness, and tried not to think about her imminent sighting of Faramir. Instead, she decided, she would focus on committing to memory the splendour and importance of an event that had not occurred in Minas Tirith for almost a thousand years.

There were a few murmurs of conversation and short bursts of laughter, but mostly folk were silent as they gathered on the plains, waiting for the sun to rise behind the mountains in the east, now clear of shadow and fire.

Keren and Palen stood just behind the warden and Ioreth, realising that they would have an excellent view of the proceedings.

Slowly the light began to change, the cold grey of dawn turning all faces pale as they looked towards the fields for a sign that things were to begin, but there was no sign of movement yet, although all could now see the army amassed in their thousands.

And then, like a burst of flame, the first tiny sliver of the red morning sun appeared over the mountains, turning the sky orange and pink as it crept up ever higher. As the base of the blazing disc cleared the very tips of the black hills all the bells in the city were rung, announcing the new day, but also heralding a new age, for with the sun came the King. Across all the city walls banners were unfurled, and down on the Pelennor fields the army released their standards to blow in the cold morning breeze, until the scene was like a patchwork of colours and golden light. But above all flew one plain white flag – the standard of the stewards, flying for the last time atop the White Tower.

And with that signal the host began to march, their armour glittering in the sun – men of Rohan and Gondor, and of the Dúnedain, and somewhere amongst the crowd the more unusual figures of four hobbits, a wizard, three elves and a dwarf.

From the city came a smaller group. Representing the folk of Rohan were the Lady Eowyn and Elfhelm, a marshal of the Mark, along with some of their knights. Alongside them were some of the captains of Minas Tirith, and Hurin, the warden of the keys, who had been entrusted with the ruling of the city during Faramir's days of illness. And beside him was the Lord Faramir himself, his black hair blowing in the breeze and his noble face all angles and shadows in the light of the rising sun.

Tall and fair he stood, his sword at his side and in his right hand the white rod of his office. Keren held her breath, and she knew if there was a moment she would have fallen with despair or anxiety, that would be it, for so proud he looked, so great, and so worthy of her love. Love that he did not want or need. To add yet more pain, there stood Eowyn just behind his shoulder, beaming with pride at the sight of her betrothed. But the shock came and went, and she found she was still standing, and still breathing, and still – unbelievably – looking forward to the ceremony and the celebrations. She felt almost as if the worst had now occurred, and she had survived seeing them together. Now all she could do was endure the rest of her life, and she was not doing too badly at that.

The host kept marching until they were but a few hundred feet from the gateway. No gate stood there now, and all that remained was sad stacks of rubble, but a barrier had been hastily built in its stead, in front of which stood men at arms dressed the same as Faramir, in black and silver, with their swords drawn in honour of the new King.

When the army halted the crowd hushed, for all could now see the figure at the front of the Host, and the sight of him instilled wonder into the hearts of all.

Clad in black armour inlaid with silver, his dark hair was loose around his shoulders, and his face was handsome but stern. Over his shoulders a mantle of white fell to the floor, and at his throat was the same green brooch that had so dazzled Keren at her first sight of him. Circling his head was a narrow band of silver, with just a single star shining on his forehead. No such figure had been seen in the city since the last age, and many there thought they were seeing Elendil himself, as if he had just come from the ship that had borne him to Middle Earth from the west.

He stepped forward, and walked slowly towards the entrance to the city, where Faramir stood ready to receive him. Behind him walked his kin, the Dúnedain, all clad in silver and grey, all tall and dark as he. At his shoulders were Eomer, King of Rohan and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and flanking them were figures that were only familiar to a very few – Mithrandir, and three strange, small creatures. But oddest of all, a fourth of these was walking at the side of the King, as if an equal.

Keren's heart caught in her chest with pride at the sight of the hobbits in such a place of honour, although the moment was somewhat ruined by Ioreth's wittering to her cousin, who she had managed to sneak into the front row with her.

"Nay, cousin! they are not boys. Those are _Periain,_ out of the far country of the Halflings, where they are princes of great fame it is said. I should know, for I had one to tend in the Houses."

Keren and Palen looked at each other behind Ioreth's back and rolled their eyes, smiling. Whilst Pippin had been keen to keep the creative but inaccurate title given to him during his time in the city – Prince of the Halflings – the girls had swiftly been informed by Frodo at Cormallen that he was most decidedly not.

As Elessar neared the gate a single trumpet was sounded, and Faramir and Húrin walked forward to meet him. Behind them came four armed guards of the citadel, bearing a casket of silver and black.

Upon their meeting it struck Keren just how alike King and Steward were, both in stature and in looks, their dark hair and grey, farseeing eyes proclaiming their shared blood of Númenor for all to see. Faramir knelt before his King, holding out his rod of office.

"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office," he proclaimed loudly, and it seemed to Keren he showed no grief at having to resign his authority.

The reply that came was unexpected to all.

"That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!"

Elessar handed the rod back to him, and Faramir rose.

He took a moment to gather himself, and Keren's heart went out to him with pride and love as he readied himself to speak when he had not expected to. But when he spoke, he moved the hearts of all present.

"Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the kingship again at last."

The words of his long speech dwindled into insignificance for Keren, who could not tear her eyes from him. For here was the epitome of what she had fallen in love with, here was the proud and noble man of Gondor, friend to Kings and still Steward of a great city, who inspired faith and love in all who saw him. This was the man she had known she was destined to love, to support, to grow old with. And yet none of that had come to pass, and now there was another in her place – one fairer, bolder and braver than her.

She jumped as all the thousands of folk shouted 'yea!' in answer to him asking if they accepted Elessar as King. Hastily she added her own voice to the crowd before it was noticeable she had not been paying attention.

Then Faramir spoke once more, and Keren tried her best to watch the events unfold rather than pin her eyes on him. He held up a crown which he had taken from the casket, crafted all in white and shaped with wings of pearl and silver. A light shone around it despite its great age.

The King took the crown and holding it aloft sang in a clear voice the words of Elendil, which carried to where Keren stood listening in awe.

 _Et Eӓrello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!_

And then another moment of surprise came, for he did not then lower the crown onto his head. Instead he passed it back to Faramir, and for one dizzyingly wonderful confusing moment Keren thought Elessar was about to renounce his title and pass the kingship to the steward.

"By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance," the King said. "In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory."

So the dark-haired hobbit walked slowly forward to take the crown, and Keren smiled with joy to see the faces of Merry, Pippin and Sam with tears of pride flowing freely. The King knelt to receive the crown as Frodo passed it to the wizard.

"Now come the days of the King," Mithrandir's loud voice proclaimed, "and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"

At those words Keren felt something very strange, for the crystal in her pocket seemed to pulse and resonate with joy which echoed through her whole being. She clenched her hand automatically around it in response, and wondered what was happening, but with the events of the day she was to forget all about it by nightfall.

As Elessar stood once more, with the crown of ancient Kings upon his head, all guise of him as an ordinary man was swept away, and he was revealed to all as the powerful figure Keren had first seen in the Houses. She had never seen him as anything different, and so was a little puzzled by the reaction from all those around her.

A light shone around him, and any folk that had been doubting his claim to the throne knew in that moment that the true King had returned at last.

"Behold the King!" Faramir cried. With that trumpets blasted, and Elessar walked forward to the barrier at the gateway to the city, which Húrin opened solemnly. Soon he was lost to Keren's sight, as were all the group at the gates, as all progressed up through the levels of the city to the Citadel, where the banner of the White Tree was unfurled, to fly high and proud above the White Tower for as long as King Elessar's heirs were to rule.

Now all that was left was for the host on the plains to disband, and Keren in her prime spot by the gate, watched with happiness as Beregond's wife, and Bergil with little Borlas, ran forward to greet her dear friend. Her and Palen hugged each other in their mutual joy and excitement, and she found that, unusually, she could not stop smiling and laughing.

Someone was watching her however, although she was unaware.

Legolas had been behind the company of Dúnedain, standing with Gimli. Now they were to make their way up through the city streets to celebrate with their friend the King. As they passed by the healers of the city Keren did not even notice him, but he stopped in his tracks at the sight of her so happy, and smiled fondly. The dwarf noticed this, and unseen by the elf as he began to walk once more, looked up inquisitively at his friend, wondering what could have prompted such a thing.

But the thought left his head as quickly as it came, for Aragorn had promised him a feast worthy of even dwarvish appetites, and he could not get to the Merethrond quickly enough to see if this claim was true.

* * *

 **Author note: Ok so I know in the book Aragorn doesn't sing, but I love that little tune Viggo Mortensen set to Tolkien's words, so I changed it to be a song... Book purists don't hate me ;) It means: 'Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.' Until next time x**


	14. Chapter Fourteen - An unexpected party

**Author note: Oh bum, well it's been a while hasn't it? Sorry! New job has been keeping me busy! So many new followers and favs - thanks Dreamseemer77, Ilovefantasyy, Rose1414, Rosilynne, Se acerca el invierno, cintymuero77, katulahof, lem00066, strider03, Fansidar, Hope and love, Kayla deLana, Marianne 16, Oksi0487, QuikChik, Shayde Revelle and midnightandcounting!**

 **Thanks Winter kiss, QuickChik, jshaw0624 and ForeverTeamEdward for your reviews, I hope you guys haven't given up on me after such a long break!**

 **Rachetg - I wouldn't say Legolas is falling for Keren, rather he is just amused/confused that they keep crossing each other's paths. And he is also interested in her as she's a bit of a mystery. But not romantic interest. But give it time... maybe...**

 **WickedGreene13 - Yeah I think they will always be aware of each other, even if just from afar. In my head he is looking out for her a little, and pleased when she is happy, as he usually meets her when she's sad!**

 **I hope you all enjoy this chapter - it's a bit of a filler, BUT important stuff does go down, and there are yet more clues to Keren's connection with her crystal. The next chapter will be big, I mean seriously BIG, in terms of story/character development. I'm excited to write it!**

 **PS yes the chapter title is a blatant steal from The Hobbit, as is all of Tolkien's stuff in this story (obvs). But the rest is my own, my precious.**

* * *

 **Chapter fourteen – An unexpected party**

The morning after the coronation was a blurred affair for the majority of the people of Minas Tirith. Some had no recollection of getting home. Some did not even make it home and found themselves awakening on a step or in an alley. Some awoke in a bed which they swiftly and worriedly realised was not their own. The taverns which had survived the siege had never done such good business, and ale and wine were at an all-time low. The sun rose and many were still singing, shouting and laughing as the new day began.

The healers were for the most part nursing heavy heads as they returned to work to patch up the inevitable victims of drunken accidents and brawls.

But no matter how tired they felt, or how much their heads were aching, all were still in celebratory mood, and there was far more greeting of strangers in the street, and far more jovial conversation between the healers and their patients.

Keren was still feeling a little emotionally spent after her sighting of Faramir, and she had not drunk enough at the celebrations to warrant feeling as tired as she did. But nevertheless she had managed to have a good time. She was sorry that she had not had a chance to see Beregond in the midst of all the festivities, but he had gone to spend the time alone with his family after too long a separation. She hoped they had passed a peaceful, happy night, although she was still convinced something was not right with him.

That feeling she could not shake as the day passed, despite the warden bringing exciting news to the Houses.

"I am proud to tell you all that our new King has asked us all to be present at the throne room in the White Tower at noon hour tomorrow, for we are all to be publicly thanked for the work we have done," he announced, his voice, usually so strong and severe, sounding a little shaky and overwhelmed at the tidings he had received.

An excited murmur went up and all eagerly awaited what the next day would bring. For most it would be their first chance to see the new King so closely, and for a few of the youngest healers, their first visit to the citadel. Even out of those who had been permitted entry to the seventh level of the city, only a very few had set foot inside the throne room. This was to be an exciting occasion for all.

Keren lay her head down to rest that night with it buzzing. Her main concern was whether Faramir would be there, and if she would have to acknowledge his presence if he saw her. But underneath that worry was the pure excitement of seeing the King face to face, and wondering if perhaps he would recognise her as the one who had run to do his bidding that ultimately saved Faramir's life. She doubted he would, but it was nice to imagine, and just as she was getting lost in a nice little fantasy of both him and Faramir acknowledging her part in it cold dread hit her heart, for another face had come into the vision.

The Lady Éowyn would no doubt be there too if it was a public ceremony of thanks, for she had benefitted from the healers' skills greatly.

All Keren could do was try to sleep and hope that it was a fairly quiet affair beneath their notice, that these nobles that had caused her so much trouble would stay away.

 _And yet how I long for a sight of him again,_ was her last thought as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The event did not pan out quite how Keren expected it.

Far from a grand procession into the throne room, there was instead what felt like a queue to see the King, and a very mixed group of folk it was. For Elessar had not only a whole kingdom to rule, but he also had to liaise with countries both near and far, to meet with their embassies and ambassadors. Then there were the groups on whom he needed to bestow thanks and praise, soldiers who had shown especial bravery and courage. Then there were those who had served the enemy, who needed to be judged. All these and more he had ordered to the throne room during the days after his coronation and there was a constant stream of people passing by as he dealt out his judgement.

The healers found themselves waiting for most of the day to be seen, but the time eventually came when all were assembled in a line awaiting a personal token from the King, who stood in front of his throne. At his side, sat in the smaller chair below the throne, was Faramir in his role as steward, witness to proceedings. Keren shut herself off from his presence, and became blind to him to protect herself. She did not look at him once, and so was unaware of whether he looked at her or not.

Into each hand was pressed a large coin, with a murmured blessing from Elessar. A few of the healers thought of what they could buy with it, but most – Keren and Palen included – intended to keep it as a memento of such a proud day. When Keren knelt before her King she kept her head bowed as instructed, but as she rose she caught a glimpse of his face and grey eyes, and she thought a flicker of recognition went through them as he quickly met her eyes. She had the impression that this man would never forget a face, of friend or enemy, and she quickly looked away from the strength of his gaze.

Slowly the healers filtered past, and all were kept moving as they moved away from the throne alongside the walls back towards the door. No one spoke, although there were a few excited whispers as they drew near to the exit. Just as Keren and Palen turned to each other to giggle with delight they heard something which froze their blood.

"At your request, my King," a loud voice called, "here is Beregond of the Guard of the Citadel, brought to face your judgement."

As one the girls turned to see Beregond, his hands bound by chains, brought down the central aisle of the throne room by the Captain of the Guard. His face was grim and sad, and he was pale.

"Beregond?" Keren whispered. "What…"

"Come." Palen's voice whispered in her ear, as she grabbed her sisters hand and quietly ran closer to the front of the room, staying close to the wall. They came to a stop behind a column of marble, hoping that the warden would not notice their absence in such a large crowd. From there they could see and hear well. Kerens' heart was pounding in her chest.

"Beregond." The King's voice echoed proudly in the hall. "By your sword blood was spilled in the Hallows, where that is forbidden. Also you left your post without leave of Lord or Captain."

Keren at once knew what had been haunting her friend ever since that day when he had brought Faramir to her near dead. She had not thought to ask how he had managed to get Faramir away. For him to fight in the Hallows, for him to draw blood in Rath Dinen – _did that mean he killed someone,_ Keren wondered – was a truly disrespectful action to all the Kings and Stewards that lay there.

"For these things," Elessar went on, "of old, death was the penalty. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom."

"No!" Keren whispered, as Palen gasped. Surely the new King would be merciful, he seemed an honourable and good man. But it could not be denied that Beregond had committed a crime. She watched her friend close his eyes. She knew he was thinking of his wife and boys, and how they would cope without him. The King's voice cut through the silence.

"All penalty is remitted for your valour in battle," he proclaimed, "and still more because all that you did was for the love of the Lord Faramir."

Tears Keren was not aware had been gathering in her eyes spilled as she closed her eyes in relief and smiled. Beregond was spared.

"Nonetheless," Elessar continued, and Keren's eyes snapped open, "you must leave the Guard of the Citadel, and you must go forth from the City of Minas Tirith."

Beregond bowed his head in despair. Keren knew that he loved his home, and her heart ached for him. It was a fair punishment, but nevertheless she was surprised that Elessar had even gone that far, and not forgiven him entirely for his part in saving Faramir's life.

"So it must be," the King said, "for you are appointed to the White Company, the Guard of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be its captain and dwell in Emyn Arnen in honour and peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to save him from death."

At this a murmur went up around the hall, and there was sudden movement near to the throne as Faramir rose to his feet. Keren's eyes went straight to him, and her heart constricted at the sight of his handsome face frowning with confusion.

"My King?" His rich voice was hidden by the mumbling around the room, but Keren read his lips.

Elessar raised his hand, and silence gradually descended through the hall. Beregond fell to his knees and kissed the King's hand, and Elessar rose him to his feet with a smile. He gestured for him to stand to one side, and then beckoned Faramir to stand beside him.

"Yes Faramir," he said. "Steward of Gondor you remain, but the Princedom of Ithilien I grant you also. In Emyn Arnen you shall dwell, within site of the city, for Minas Ithil in Morgul Vale shall be utterly destroyed, and though it may in time to come be made clean, no man may dwell there for many long years. But perchance one day your descendants shall, for the land of Ithilien shall be yours and your heirs for as long as your line endures."

Faramir knelt in gratitude, and a cheer went up throughout the hall as folk rejoiced to see the good man they all loved be rewarded. Keren was silent. She was pleased, and proud. But she knew that once he left for Ithilien she would not see him again, and was unsure whether to feel grief or relief. She decided for the time being to allow herself to feel both.

* * *

Gone were the days when Keren knew the plans of the nobility, for no longer did she spend her time with them. Her life became quickly mundane once more as she settled back into her usual hours at the Houses. She was unaware of the anxious parting of Faramir and Eowyn as she and her brother left for Rohan to make preparations for the funeral of Theoden. Keren could not witness their departure as she was busy with her work, and so she missed another sight of the two elven sons of Elrond as they left with them. She knew not that Theoden rested in a tomb within the Hallows until such time as he could return to the home of the horse lords with his niece and nephew.

She had little time to think of elves or wizards or hobbits now, although she knew that they were all somewhere within the city walls. She missed her lively conversations with the hobbits, and hoped they were well and happy as they recovered from their trials. Occasionally her mind would flit to the elf and all that he had said, and sometimes wondered if she would ever encounter such a strange being again, or whether she had had her taste of excitement and was now destined for a life of monotony.

The month of May was more than half passed when one afternoon there was a gentle tapping on the door to her and Palen's room. Keren was most surprised, when she told whoever it was to come in, to see Merry and Pippin pop their heads round the door.

"Oh hello!" she said. "I thought you would have forgotten about me."

"Never," Merry said with a smile as they came bundling into the room. "We hoped we would catch you on an afternoon off. Do you want to hear all that's been happening?"

Keren very much did, and so settled down to an afternoon of the two hobbits sharing stories of all that occurred since she had last seen them. They had been staying with the rest of the fellowship in a house within the fifth level of the city, and making frequent trips with them all up to the citadel to see their good friend the King. She was intrigued to hear that Elessar, or, as she was beginning to get used to hearing them call him, Aragorn, had begun hinting at some great event which was to come, one which he would have all his friends attend.

"Do you know what he means?" she asked.

"Not a clue," Pippin said. "Unless perhaps it is his birthday, for he never told us when it is. Are Kings allowed to have normal birthday parties, or do they have to have a great national celebration?"

Keren's own upcoming birthday was brought to her mind with that sentence. It had quite left her head with all the events of the past couple of months.

 _It's not even a week away_ , she realised.

"Keren?" Pippin nudged her to get her attention. "I said do you think Kings can have normal birthday parties."

Keren smiled.

"Sorry Pip," she said. "You've just reminded me that it's my own birthday soon. Not that I was planning to do anything for it."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other.

"When is it?" Merry asked.

"On Thursday," she replied.

"And you are to be how old?"

"Merry!"

"Seventeen, eighteen?"

Keren sighed.

"Twenty-one if you must know."

"But that's an important age for you isn't it?" Pippin said. "Like us coming out of our tweens."

"Your what?" Keren asked.

"Our tweens," Merry repeated. "We come of age when we're thirty-three, when our tweens end. Pip's not there yet."

"Oh. Well I suppose you could say it is a coming of age, yes. But I'm not going to make anything of it, I'm too busy."

She got up to close the window, and missed the decidedly sly look the hobbits gave each other behind her back.

* * *

Thursday morning rolled around like any other day, and when Keren awoke Palen was not there to wish her a happy birthday. She was, if she was honest with herself, a little annoyed at that, but rushed to get dressed so that she could get to work on time, and started walking down the corridor to the wards. She had told no one it was her birthday, although she was sure they all knew by now as she had been at the Houses so many years. She wondered if perhaps there would be a cake waiting in the refectory as there had been when she turned sixteen. But then she assumed that folk were still swept up in all the exciting events of the past few weeks, and that her birthday would quietly go unnoticed. She did not mind over much.

 _But still,_ she thought, _Pal could have made the effort._

"Now!" Just as she thought of her, she heard her sister's voice shout from somewhere behind her, and two small figures came out of nowhere. Catching her unawares, they pinned her laughingly to the wall, whilst a blindfold came down over her eyes.

"Pal!" she shouted with alarm, but just got laughter as a reply, as a knot was tied behind her head. "What's going on?"

"A surprise," was the reply from all three voices – Palen, Merry and Pippin.

She was led out of the Houses, and as far as she could tell, out into the city and down one level. She thought she had some idea now of where they were headed. If she could have seen the strange looks she received being led blindfolded through the city streets by two hobbits, despite them being more familiar sights to the folk of Minas Tirith now, she would have crumpled with embarrassment. She tried not to think about what she must look like, her sister pulling at her arm.

She wondered what on earth they had planned for her as they pushed their way through an old wooden door and brought her to a stop a few paces in. The light breeze blowing on her face told her that they were still outside, but the closing of the door behind her indicated it was a private place.

"Where are we?" she said laughingly. "You bunch of idiots, what are you up to?"

All was silent, except for a deep rumbling, amused cough that resonated around the space. She had never heard anyone cough like that before – it sounded like two boulders crashing together. Before she had time to question who it could be the blindfold was quickly removed and all was revealed.

She was stood in a fairly small courtyard of stone, with a fine house surrounding it on all four sides. In the centre was a large table, entirely covered with food and drink. Around the table were stood four hobbits, a dwarf – the owner of the cough – an elf and a wizard. Two of the hobbits were positively beaming with pride and excitement.

"Welcome to your traditional day of eating," said Pippin. "It's how we hobbits like to begin the celebrations. Oh, and we thought it was high time you met our friends. Properly."

Keren blinked, and internally cringed. She could not believe that the hobbits had expected their famous friends to turn up to her birthday party. But there they all were, even Mithrandir, although he looked a little stern smoking his pipe at the end of the table.

She turned to face Palen, who shrugged her shoulders with a smile.

"Surprise?" she said. "Although none of it was really down to me. But I have prepared some of the food. Come and eat."

The dwarf sat down hastily and immediately began piling his plate, but in-between tasting each dish before him, he introduced himself to Keren.

"Your sister I have met, mistress Keren," he said, "but much have I heard of you from our young friends here." He nodded over at Merry and Pippin, who were also occupied in selecting food.

"It is an honour to meet you, I also have heard much of you," she replied with a dry mouth. She was suddenly extremely nervous to be in the presence of such a famous group, and was very glad Palen was there to bring some normality to the proceedings.

She hesitatingly walked forward and took a plate. Mithrandir nodded at her as she did so, but did not say anything, although he did smile at her briefly. He was not unfriendly, she decided, but did not seem the kind for small talk with strangers. She had not shared one word with him, and doubted he remembered her from the time he came to the Houses.

There was an empty chair in a place of honour at the end of the table, which Sam came forward and offered to her. She felt most uncomfortable accepting it, for she felt decidedly the lowest in status, not the highest. To her right was Palen, sat next to Merry and Pippin. On her left were Frodo and Sam. Beyond them was the elf, who had gently smiled at her when she sat, and raised a hand to his breast in greeting. He then raised his eyebrow, and she practically read his mind.

 _We meet again_ , she imagined he thought.

The dwarf and Mithrandir sat at the other end of the table. There was an empty seat next to the wizard, which she assumed was for Dannor when he finished his duties.

As the food was digested and the wine and beer began to disappear, the company passed a merry afternoon. Nothing of much import was mentioned, for the tone was one of merriment and light, with jokes and stories being shared. Keren was silent for the most part, in shock that her coming of age should be celebrated with such folk. She often talked quietly with Frodo however, of books and learning, which made a nice balance with her sides splitting from listening to some of Merry and Pippin's escapades.

A couple of pleasant hours passed, and the food was all but gone, when a knocking came at the courtyard door. A look was passed around the table which Keren could not read, and Pippin sprung up to open the door.

Keren nearly cried 'what?!' aloud when she saw who was there. Flanked by two of his guards, wearing simple robes with no armour this time, was the King.

 _The King is at my birthday party, the_ King _is at_ my _birthday party_ , was all that went through Keren's mind as he walked in and took his place humbly at the empty wooden seat next to Mithrandir. She stood awkwardly and curtsied low, as did Palen, as his guards retreated and vanished behind the closed door.

"Rise, daughters of Maleron," he said simply. "For when I am alone with these folk I am not a King, but a companion."

Then he looked around the table.

"My friends, you could have left some of the venison."

There was that quiet voice she remembered from before, but now it was not stern but kind and mildly amused. She was aware she was gaping like a fish, and she heard a quiet huff of amusement. She looked over to the direction it had come from, and was surprised that her eyes fell upon the elf. She had not had a chance to speak to him yet, as none had moved from their seats, but she oddly felt again as if she knew what he would have said had they been next to each other.

"And now Aragorn is here, we can have a royal celebration," Merry shouted, already drunk. "Although there is to be a real one soon if I have it right."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Soon my friend, I am sure of it."

"You are still being very reluctant in telling us what it is," Pippin said. "I take it we are all invited?"

"I wish for all the fellowship to be by my side, as I've said many times before Master Took," the King said, sounding to Keren to be a little tired of this subject.

"Ah but what of new friends?" Pippin went on, gesturing over to Keren and Palen. "The finest healers in Gondor, do they not deserve a place there?"

"Pippin!" Keren whispered quickly, embarrassed.

There was an awkward silence around the table.

"My King, I have no wish to – I mean I do not desire – I mean I know it would not be acceptable for me to… It is not my place…" Keren's voice faded into mortified silence.

Palen glared at Pippin for causing such a scene.

But then the King surprised them all – except Gandalf, who knew the heart and read the mind of Aragorn well, and had a better memory than most – with his words.

"Mistress Keren," he began, "Well I remember your face. It was your haste and diligence that helped me to save the life of Faramir. And do not attempt to say that all you did was fetch water, for I have heard from others just how much of your energy you sacrificed to see him on the path to wellness. On the merit of your courage and your skill, you have earned a place by the side of your new friends, when the time comes. Your sister also, for all she did for the Lady Eowyn."

Keren was not entirely sure if she fully believed those words, or whether Pippin had previously begged for them to be allowed to go, but either way she felt she could not accept the invitation, by royal decree or no. She did not see herself mixing in such grand circles – for a start she had nothing to wear. She absolutely refused to wear the dratted green dress again that had started the whole trouble.

"Well," a gruff voice said from the end of the table. "A merry time we shall all have together, eh, master elf?"

Gandalf was looking at Keren with piercing grey eyes, but speaking to Legolas. No one else seemed to notice anything was amiss, but Keren felt most uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Merry indeed," she heard Legolas' voice through a kind of haze, as she felt the wizard was trying to tell her something with his mind, or test her in some way. She was suddenly aware of her crystal in her pocket and had a strange urge to show it to him, to give it to him even. She felt under intense scrutiny, but she knew not what she was supposed to say or do, if anything.

Merry laughed suddenly and Mithrandir's eyes peeled away from hers and went back to his drink and his pipe.

* * *

Four days later and a buzz was spreading around the city. A new age must indeed be dawning, for suddenly gone was the old, dead white tree, and in its place by the fountain was planted a strong young sapling. Rumours spread that the King had been taken up to the mountains on an eagle to fetch it, that it had miraculously appeared the day that Sauron was defeated, that it was from the line of Nimloth itself. Whether any, all or none of these were true Keren did not know, but she was one of many who waited in line reverently to see it.

Only three feet high, it could not have been much more than five years old. The long leaves were of such a dark green they appeared almost black, until you came a little closer and saw that the underside of all the leaves were a shining silver. Magnificent it would look when it achieved maturity, but for now it was fair and beautiful, with one small cluster of white flowers crowning it.

The week passed, and in that time the young tree flourished, so that by the first day of June it was laden with pure white blossoms, and the folk of the city were puzzled when the next day a watch was set on the walls, looking to the North.

* * *

 **Author note: I would love to know people's theories on the crystal btw. Hopefully next update won't be so long! x**


	15. Chapter Fifteen - Out of control

**Author note:** **I will clarify something – when two characters are talking that both understand Elvish (whatever dialect they may speak) then I will use English when they converse. If an elvish speaking character is talking around, for example, Keren, who does not speak Elvish, then I will use Elvish. I feel this kind of mirrors her confusion of not knowing what is being said. So reflecting this, when Celeborn and Legolas speak in this chapter, everything is translated into English, including names, as I figured this is only logical. I hope this makes sense.**

 **Thanks Dessuithiel Maethoriel, IMH, Maddell, Nbowles, NightNurse91, RinMine, Ysarielle, driftingpurpose, kaikurayami, pervychan1 and Kushina98 for the followes and favs.**

 **blue7lake, jshaw0624 thanks for your reviews as always.**

 **Tibblets - Keren being Arwen's handmaiden is a cool idea, but we know Keren's not that great at staying put... You'll find out in chapter 16 what's next for her!**

 **Hawaiichick - aw thanks so much for all your reviews as you read the whole story so far! I'm so glad you like Keren so much, she's not perfect but then who is? I hope that's what makes her and all the characters relatable and likeable.**

 **IMH - thanks so much! Yeah none of the relationships between characters are going to be easy, where would the fun be in that? ;) And the prophecy is really tricky, finding a balance between ridiculously crazy and cliché, and kind of believable is hard! Glad you think I'm doing ok.**

 **Rachetg - love Merry and Pippin so they've become slightly more prominent than I originally intended! Hmm a magical elf crystal... Close. ;)**

 **This chapter is long but super important! Enjoy the angst x**

* * *

 **Chapter fifteen - Out of control**

Dawn had just broken on Mid Years Day, the first of July, and yet another breathtaking sight was approaching the city of Minas Tirith, another image that none would forget, even after all the wondrous events since the siege.

A whole host of elves, riding down from the north. Most of the folk of the city did not know who they were looking at, but a very few there recognised all, and knew that never again would they see them all together again on Middle Earth.

For in the procession were a great many of the most illustrious of elves – the brothers Elladan and Elrohir leading the way, then Glorfindel and Erestor with all the elves of Rivendell, then the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, Celeborn and Galadriel, with many of their people. Finally came Lord Elrond, and beside him rode his daughter, the Lady Arwen, and the smile that appeared on King Elessar's face explained to all who knew him just what the great day was that all had been waiting for. It appeared it had come.

Legolas stood beside his friend watching with happiness, although his sharp eyes picked out early on that neither his father nor any of the people from his homeland had made the journey to Gondor.

 _Why does that not surprise me_ , thought Legolas bitterly. _Anyone would think he was afraid to travel beyond our borders, but the truth is he is just uncaring._

As the elves were lost to his sight as they went through the gates and made their slow and stately way up through the levels of the city to the citadel, Aragorn turned and went to inspect the throne room and the Merethrond, both of which had been prepared for this event. He was satisfied with all he saw, and knew that tonight would be a time for the greatest, happiest feasting and dancing the city had ever seen. For at noon, at last, he would wed Arwen Undomiel, and with the setting of the sun would come the celebrations.

Greetings and welcomes were formal but full of joy, and as Arwen went to bow before the King he raised her in his arms and kissed her. Legolas looked on with happiness as his friend was reunited with his love, but his eye was drawn away by the Lord Celeborn beckoning him to his side.

"Greetings Greenleaf," Celeborn began, raising his hand to his breast. "I bring you tidings of your home."

"Lord, it will bring me ease to hear of my home," Legolas replied. "But pray tell me quickly if the news is good or bad."

"It begins badly, but do not fear. Your father's realm was invaded by goblins, who fled when their strongholds collapsed after the defeat of The Abhorred. The fighting was hard and long, and it grieves me to tell you much was destroyed, many trees burnt and lost."

Celeborn looked grave, but Legolas knew there was more to the tale.

"Go on, I beg you," he said.

"Your father led his armies bravely, and in time, although with many losses, the enemy was defeated."

"And my father?"

"Survived, and is well. I have seen him."

"He agreed to meet with you?" Legolas was shocked that Thranduil had either ventured out of his realm or had allowed another in.

"We met in the southern woods, now called the Golden Wood of the East, for the Hill of Sorcery is destroyed and all trace of darkness is gone. The woods to the north, your father's lands, we have renamed The Wood of Greenleaves, for the spiders and all other evil things are leaving, never to return."

"Greenleaves?"

Celeborn smiled.

"Your father was adamant we chose that name. Now why would that be I wonder?"

"Father renamed our land after… me?" Now Legolas was truly dumbfounded.

"For one day you shall rule it, and he is reminding all of that fact," Celeborn replied. "Including you, I imagine."

The younger elf's face grew grave.

"Of course," Celeborn went on with a smile, "it could also be because he loves you, and is proud of you."

"Of course," Legolas said quietly as Celeborn retreated back to his wife.

* * *

"I'm not wearing it."

Keren was sullen and beginning to panic.

"Well what else do you have?" asked Palen, knowing the answer would be nothing.

"I am not. Wearing. It."

Palen sighed.

"Do you want to go?"

"Of course."

"Do you want to go in your healers garb?"

"No."

"Then you're stuck."

"Palen!" Keren reached the end of her tether. "You know why I cannot wear it, you know he will be there, you know it will remind him of… then. And I will die inside."

"It's just a dress Keren," Palen said. "And he is a man, he won't remember what you were wearing, it was months ago now."

But Keren knew that he would. For she would never forget the way he had looked at her the first time he laid eyes on her. It seemed almost dream-like now, but she clearly remembered the look of surprise and wonder on his face when he saw her in the forest green dress that had once been her mother's, that made it impossible for her to believe now that they would have no future together, that another had taken her place. She believed she was fulfilling her prophecy, and for a few wonderful days, it appeared to have worked. Still sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she clung on to the old belief, and a tiny voice rose up in her now, despite all the heartache and pain.

 _Wear it again, let him remember, let him see, perhaps it will wake him up to the truth. Then he can leave her and remember he is supposed to be with you. It's been foretold, Keren, foretold. Trust the prophecy._

"No." Keren said to herself in the mirror, for the prophecy had lied and led her to nothing but sorrow and regret over the time wasted on her juvenile fantasies.

"Well then, don't go." Palen had assumed her younger sister was talking to her. "Don't go, and sit here and be bored. Or sit here and agonise over what you might be missing. Either way it's not going to be fun."

Keren knew that she either had to turn up to the royal wedding feast in her work clothes or wear the fated dress that she now associated with total disaster. Or she could do as Palen said and spend a miserable evening alone. She did not want to seem ungrateful – her and Palen were the only healers other than Ioreth and the warden who had been offered an invite, through their closeness to the hobbits – but she really did not think that she could face Faramir in the same guise that she had thought would win his heart. How would he react? With amusement, disdain, or anger? Or worse – would he really have forgotten it? Would it mean nothing? She sighed and looked down on it as it lay innocently on her bed. It was so beautiful, and she knew Palen was jealous that it did not fit her. And it did look well on her, setting off the different tones of brown in her hair, and the paleness of her skin.

As if reading her thoughts, Palen spoke again.

"You know, there will be other men there, not just him. Other lords and princes. You will never get a chance like this again to mingle with such fine folk. And the elves will be there, and all of the fellowship. We have fallen into the strangest pattern of chances, and I cannot let you miss what could be one of the most exciting nights of our lives. You don't have to talk to him, or even look at him if you don't want to. You need to stop making everything about him."

Keren knew her sister was right, and that she was throwing away a golden opportunity. She sighed with a little confused frown as she met Palen's eye.

"Now will you put it on and get ready to go?"

With one last squeeze of the crystal in her hand, there so much lately that it felt almost like an extension of her arm, she made her decision.

* * *

Faramir had been at the wedding at noon, one of the few of the race of men present. Greatly outnumbering them were the elves, for of course it was an elvish ceremony, and comparatively few were present to witness the moment that Arwen, daughter of Elrond, became Queen. But now, after a quiet afternoon of preparation – during which, Faramir assumed with his political head, the new King and Queen had also consummated the marriage – there was to be a large crowd descending on the Merethrond, and probably spilling out onto the Place of the Fountain, for the celebrations.

As he approached the cavernous hall, he felt a brief regret that Eowyn was not on his arm. For almost two months they had been parted. But of course, she was in her rightful place beside her brother in her homeland, preparing Edoras for the burial of her uncle. She would return for his body, and when the procession departed he would go with her. But until then he had much to keep him occupied.

He knew he would be one of the last to arrive, for, the King being otherwise occupied today, he had found himself having to deal with a few more duties than previously in his role as Steward. Either side of the marriage his day had been filled with documents and charters, and welcoming noble visitors for the celebrations.

His eyes scanned the room as he entered. The dancing had not yet begun, but the feasting was well underway. Aragorn and Arwen sat under a canopy, and near them he picked out the now familiar faces of the fellowship and some of the elves, although he had not committed all of their names to memory yet. He was surprised to see the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood there, for they had seemed far too ethereal and solemn to wish to attend a feast. And yet they were laughing merrily, although he noticed most of their food was untouched. He smiled as he noticed that the food on the hobbits' plates was practically gone, and Pippin was reloading his whilst talking with a mouthful of something or other.

Faramir made his way towards Frodo and Sam, whom he had not seen as often as he would have liked since their meeting in Ithilien. Mithrandir stood and offered him his seat next to Frodo, waving his pipe in the air as if to indicate he was going outside. He nodded his thanks as a plate was swiftly brought to him, and he sat down to enjoy his evening.

* * *

Keren, about as far away from the King as it was possible to be whilst still being in the room, had a goblet of wine halfway to her mouth when she noticed Faramir had taken the place of Mithrandir.

"When did he get here?" she whispered to Palen.

"He has been here for a while. I was surprised you had not noticed him before," was her sisters reply.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Why do you think?" Palen looked pointedly at the goblet which still had not made it to Keren's mouth.

She made it through the rest of the meal, and was rather proud of herself, for she only looked at Faramir twelve times in the hour – not that she was counting.

The rather large operation of clearing the tables began, and the guests flooded out into the Place of the Fountain to give the servants the chance to clear the floor for the dances to follow.

"Palen, Keren!" A familiar voice came from behind them – Beregond.

Now free of the worry over his fate, he was back to his old self. He even held himself with a little more pride than before, his new office sitting well on his shoulders. Beside him was his wife, Orel, who greeted the girls warmly.

The girls had not seen much of Beregond since that dreadful moment in the throne room when they thought he was to be put to death, and they asked him many questions of his new role as the captain of Faramir's guard. Beregond, however, was watching Keren's face closely as he gave his answers, and had his suspicions confirmed when she began to look as if she wished she was somewhere else when he spoke of Faramir's plans to build a new life with Eowyn in Ithilien. He quickly changed the subject.

Keren had begun to feel a little warm and panicky, despite being outside. She was not sure if she had drunk too much wine with dinner, or whether hearing Beregond speak of Faramir and Eowyn had caused her breathing to quicken. Either way there suddenly seemed to be far too many people, and everything was far too loud. She found she did not especially want to go back inside to dance, and certainly did not want Faramir to see her. She hastily gave her excuses and went in the direction of the privy.

She knew the buildings well, however, after the tours given to her by Beregond, and the privy was not her destination. Once she had passed under the archway by the side of the Merethrond and was out of sight of Palen, she instead turned sharply to the right and went up some twisting stairs to somewhere she knew she could get some fresh air in peace. She was now in the old House of the King, only recently made public again, and this week used to house guests for the wedding, all of whom were currently at the festivities.

This left the corridor entirely deserted as she had hoped, with the rooms along it all locked up for the evening. She went all the way to the end, where she knew there was a small balcony which was not overlooked. Her and Palen, allowed to sneak into the unused building in the past few years when Beregond had turned a not very blind eye, had spent several afternoons there together when they felt the need to reminisce about their mother away from the Houses. Keren had often taken her book of Elvish myths there and read in silence alone. She hoped Palen would not realise she had gone there tonight.

* * *

The breeze was warm as it caught Faramir's black hair, and whipped at the robes and gowns of the guests. The Place of the Fountain was crowded, and Faramir was being sure to attempt to keep moving and making small talk with various people. He had been struggling to make conversation with some of the elves in his very broken Sindarin, when something caught his eye.

A flash of green in the light of the setting sun.

A strange feeling of timelessness hit him as he felt hope rise in his heart at the sight. He blinked to make sure he had seen aright, and without knowing it smiled at the memory of when he had first seen such a green on such a person, and the feeling of simple hope and happiness it had brought him.

It was indeed Keren again, in that same gown that he had not seen since that day when he had been sure he was riding to his death. She was walking gracefully but quickly away from the crowd.

Faramir had seen nothing of her since their parting, apart from the day he had been named Prince of Ithilien, and then he had noticed she was stubbornly refusing to look his way. He had not judged her for this, but assumed it meant that her feelings had not changed and to look at him would cause her pain. He certainly had not expected to see her here, and wondered how she had come to be invited.

And now, just as before, he was compelled to look at her, to try and work out why the simple sight of her made his heart soar and his mind confused. He felt it yet again as he had that day, a calling of her spirit to his, and now it commanded him to follow her.

He made his excuses and slipped away. No one saw him follow Keren – except one, who watched with mild concern as he smoked his pipe.

* * *

Keren leant on the wall and took a few deep steadying breaths. The night was warm, the sun was almost set, and she could see the lights of the city below her, homely but impressive due to the sheer number of them. Already being alone she had found some clarity. She was not going to be defeated by fear, she was going to stay at the party and enjoy herself, she was going to dance, she was going to drink more if she wished. She just needed a few moments alone to steady her nerves, to prepare herself for the moment when she may find herself face to face with Faramir.

"Keren?"

She rolled her eyes with annoyance, for now she was hearing his voice in her head. Things were worse than she had thought, for that had never happened before. It was so clear it was as if he were truly there.

"Keren, are you alright?"

 _Leave me alone, you are not real_ , she thought, highly annoyed with her imagination.

But then she felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped, holding in a scream, and whipped around.

 _I will not cry, I will not let him see me cry_ , was her first thought, as truly he was there in front of her, as tall, as stern, as close as he had been the day that they parted.

And she did not cry, nor say a word, but managed to hold his gaze.

"Shall I leave you?" he asked eventually.

And then words came from somewhere unbidden, almost overlapping his.

"Did you follow me?"

Faramir took a step back.

"I saw you leave," he said. "And I – I had not seen you for many weeks, not since I saw you in the throne room."

There was another silence.

"I will leave you," Faramir decided when Keren did not speak, did not even look at him after turning her face away.

He turned to leave, when a very small voice asked a question.

"Why did you follow me?"

He took a deep breath and, without turning to face her, answered honestly.

"As with all things in regard to you, I do not know."

He paused a while, deliberating whether to continue, but then turned to face her and spoke clearly.

"The last time we spoke you said to me that, for the sake of your heart, we should choose not to meet until fate brought us together once more."

Keren was still, surprised that he had remembered her words.

"That is why I have been anxious to avoid you," she said. "And I cannot tell you what pain that brought me, still brings me – to be robbed of the sight of you because I am afraid of my heart breaking again. I cannot tell you what I have been through in the past few months. And now, despite my request to stay away, you have followed me here when I wanted to be alone. Are you saying that fate guided your footsteps? For it does not seem that way to me – you have placed us in this position, we are not alone by chance. You saw me and followed, so I must assume you wished to see me, and I must assume you did this despite knowing it would cause me pain."

Faramir was rather taken aback at this speech, one of the longest he had heard Keren give.

"Keren, I would never knowingly cause you pain, you know this," he began. "But I would have caused you more hurt if I had not said what I said, if I had not been true to my heart at the time."

"You mean the Lady Eowyn," she said quickly.

"I mean that I was unsure of how to proceed with all the talk of fate and being brought together," he explained. "With Eowyn I found simplicity and mutual understanding. With you it was all confusion and a feeling that I was not in control."

"But you love her?"

There was the tiniest whisper of time too long before he replied that he did, and Keren could not decide if that was because he was doubting it, or simply because he knew it would hurt her to say it aloud.

And it did, it did hurt. But she was not done with her questions yet. Now the two of them were together again all of her held in emotions and frustrations were threatening to spill out.

"And do you think she would be happy you are here alone with me?"

He could not answer that, but decided to attempt to explain what had brought him to her side.

"I felt called to follow, I felt a pull in your direction," he began.

"I feel that all the time, I have since I was a child, but now I have had to train myself to ignore it. You should have too," she said angrily.

"But it is newer and stranger to me," he said. "And I saw you just now, in this…" He gestured to her green gown. "And I remembered that day, and I remembered all. And I felt hope and joy and confusion and all the things I associate with you. And I had to come. I cannot explain it further, nor do I understand."

"There are many things about us that I can explain but do not understand." Keren was swaying between annoyance and sympathy, for she too had felt the call to his side and had hidden it deep within her. "But you should not have come looking for answers now, it is too late. You should go back, you should wait for your betrothed to return to you, and you should forget about me."

Finally, and to her great shame, the tears came, quickly spilling over. She turned her back. All was silent for a while, and she let the silence grow, as did he, for both knew that if they were to continue their words must be chosen with great care. Eventually it was Keren who spoke.

"I shall be honest with you, for I wish you to know what you have caused me," she began. "I saw you and Eowyn in the gardens. I saw you kiss her and I saw her look at you with love in her eyes. And my heart broke, I felt it. For I loved you, as you knew. And it was a love I had no control over, so I felt cheated by fate, like I had been guided to you purely to encounter heartbreak. And these months – some of it I do not even remember, for I disappeared within myself, and I wished to hide from the world – these past few weeks I have finally started to feel like myself again, where you are not always present in my mind, where you are not a burden to me. But I still love you, and I always will, for that love, unfair as it is, is a part of me."

She looked him in the eye, and knew not how to feel. The strangest mix of emotions were swirling around her, pride for speaking the truth, mixed with shame and a feeling of weakness for admitting he still had some power over her.

He held her gaze, and felt unnerved. Guilt was laying heavy on him for causing her so much pain, but also worry that he had already been alone with her too long. And something else, deep in his heart, that made him most uncomfortable and questioning all that he knew of his own character. A desire to know more.

"When we parted you told me that the next time we met you would explain everything, things you felt you could not say then. And I said I would try to understand." He took a tiny step towards her, and noticed she did not automatically step away. "Well we are together again, and I wish to understand."

Keren shook her head.

"You are not who I thought you were," she said sadly. "Or if you are, then you do not realise it, so I do not think you will believe me, or understand if you did."

"Who did you think I was?" he asked.

"That is part of the telling." Keren felt almost as if she were outside her body watching the scene play out, for she could not believe she was having this conversation mere months after they had parted. She had assumed it would be years until they would meet again, if ever.

"Keren." Faramir said, calling her back to herself once more. "All I will say is yes, I do believe that we have been fate-led to have this meeting. It is far sooner than I thought, and I must tell you that my love for Eowyn is – ."

Keren quietly registered that Faramir had repeated her thought, but then on hearing Eowyn's name she interrupted.

"There is no point me telling you the truth, for if you truly love her then nothing I say will change how you feel."

"But if it will help you? If it will perhaps clear your mind?"

Faramir patiently waited as he watched Keren clearly struggling with conflicting thoughts.

Keren felt powerless. The crystal was a strangely heavy weight in her pocket, as if willing her to speak. She had learnt, though, not to always heed its promptings lest it lead her down dark paths again. But bravery within her reared its head this time.

"I told you that I would speak out when next we met," she said eventually, "so I shall hold to that promise. But do not judge me, do not laugh at me, and most of all, do not pity me, for I could not bear it."

Faramir watched her face as it went stony and cold, and he could not imagine what he was about to hear. A small part of him was afraid for them both, so serious did she seem.

And then she told him all – her mother's death, the crystal, the green gown, the prophecy, her first sight of him, her growing love, the day he left, the day they met. All.

She did not know for how long she spoke, for Faramir moved little and it seemed as if time was standing still. She occasionally met his eye and every time she did he was looking at her steadily. It was dark by the time she had finished, the last grey light of twilight gone over the mountains, so that it was hard to see his face, only lit by the lights of the city below.

"And that is the tale," she said simply. "And now you know. You do not have to believe it, but it is true."

He was silent and still. Keren, for the first time in her life, had decided to share her only secret, something not even Palen knew. And in order to make the telling complete she knew she must show him the cause of it all.

"Here is the crystal." She removed it from her pocket and held it lightly in the palm of her hand, her arm reaching out to him.

Faramir stared at it, as if surprised to see that it actually existed and was not a figment of her imagination.

"May I?" he asked, and went to touch it.

Keren nodded, rather bewildered that she was so happy for someone else to hold it after all these years.

 _But then_ , she thought, _if anyone should be able to, it should be him._

It seemed much smaller in his hand. She watched as he held it up to the moon, just emerging from behind some heavy clouds, and turned and twisted it in the light, creating bright flecks of light in and off it. It appeared for an instant entirely clear, as if the moon was shining through it.

"It is beautiful," he said after a while.

She smiled in acknowledgement as he gently gave it back to her.

"And you say it was this that brought you to me, that it has a voice in your head?"

She wondered if he was mocking her, for to hear such a ridiculous idea come from someone else's lips for the first time made her realise just how mad she must seem. But he seemed calm and serious, so she tentatively nodded.

"I was lost, and I held it to my heart, and it spoke inside me," she said.

"And I am this man who will love you, the one who will change everything? The green gown, the white tree, it is all about me?"

"I do not see how it can be about anyone else," she replied. "It all fits. And I… I do love you, and you have changed all. And the rest – the son of a noble lord, the ruler of a great realm, all love you."

"But I am not a ruler."

"Are you not now Prince of Ithilien?"

"Keren." He spoke a little sternly. "Do you truly believe all this? This is why you watched me leave for Osgiliath, why you barely left my side in the Houses? Because a crystal told you to?"

"No, I did those things because I love you!"

"But only because you were instructed to, or perhaps, in your grief over your mother, you imagined you were."

Keren pulled her head back as if he had physically hit her.

"You think I was mad, you think I am making it up."

"I think…" Faramir sighed heavily, then continued. "As I have said before, there is something strange about you, about us when we are together. I have not felt anything like it before, with anyone else, even… even Eowyn," he conceded. "But while I admit that I feel this peculiar energy when you are around me, I have told you before that I do not know what to make of it and that concerns me. I am not about to say it is love, some magical fated love. I am drawn to you and, clearly, you to me, and there is, perhaps recognition between us of being brought together, but it cannot be forced into one thing or another."

He was mortified as again he watched the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

"Oh Keren," he said, stepping closer, and without thinking put a gentle hand on her cheek. "I am sorry. But I must speak my truth, as you have spoken yours. There is love in my heart, I care for you very much, and I cannot explain it. And it would be easy for me to kiss you now, and pretend that it is some months ago. But I am betrothed, and I love my future wife. It is a love perhaps not as powerful as – "

He stopped abruptly, as if belatedly realising what he was saying.

"As what?" she said angrily, stepping even closer so their faces were almost touching. "As your love for me? Or are you too much of a coward to say it?"

"I love Eowyn," he said again, as if to remind himself, "with a true, honest, _normal_ love. Keren with you… Look at us. It is not a human love, it is not a love that could work."

"What do you mean? Why did you say that? Not a human love?"

"There are forces at work that I do not wish to understand," he said cryptically.

For what Faramir had not told Keren was that, when he held the crystal up to the moonlight, he had seen something strange within it – at one moment the face of a woman, at the next the light of a whole sky of stars, burning into eternity. It had thoroughly shaken him, and part of his questioning Keren about her sanity was a hope in him that she would admit that she was indeed making it up, and that therefore he was just seeing things.

"If we had taken this path then I do not feel we would have had a choice in anything," he continued.

"So you admit this is a path you may have taken, with me?" The breath caught in her throat.

"When we parted I turned away from that path," he said simply. "It was for the best for both of us. I had found another. You were not seeing things from a rational perspective. And now I love the one I turned to, and I will not hurt her."

"But you were happy to hurt me," she said bitterly.

"For your own good, Keren, you must believe me."

She made a small huff of disbelief.

"Listen to me," he said, angry now. They were still very close. "Do you know what I thought the day when I first saw you? I hoped beyond everything that I would survive Osgiliath so that I would see you again. In that moment I thought that if I returned I would not rest until I found you, for I wanted to know your name, everything about you. For you gave me hope. And when I awoke from the King's healing, yours was the first face I saw, the first name I heard."

"All this is because we are destined to be together!" she said desperately, fully aware that she sounded a little unhinged. But to hear that he had felt as she had gave her a wild, mad hope.

"Destined to meet, destined to change each other. But I refuse to fall in love by order of some power I cannot see or understand."

"But that _is_ love," Keren said.

"No, Keren, love is getting to know someone, caring for them, understanding them, finding things you share, learning from one another. You do not just look at someone and love everything about them, for you do not know who they truly are. That is lust. And I am not saying lust is not powerful, and I am not saying I do not feel it with you. But underneath it all, from the very beginning, are these strange whirlings of fate trying to force me to love, which I cannot – no wait – I _do not wish_ to acknowledge."

"So it is your pride and nothing more that has broken my heart? It is your fear stopping you from admitting that you have loved me since the first time you saw me, as I did you?"

Keren was angrier than she had ever felt in her life. There were no tears, but fury mixed with painful love showed on her face.

"You have no idea what pain you have caused me!" She was shouting now. "For you led me to believe that we had a future. You should have sent me away the very first day we spoke! And now I see pity and guilt in your eyes, but I do not want your pity and it is too late for guilt. You have set my life on a lonely, unknown path, when you were supposed to bring me joy. I have done nothing wrong, all I did was love, and I – "

Her words were cut short as suddenly his hands were in her hair and he was kissing her, angrily and hard. She lost the ability to think as her body responded by instinct, pressing herself into him rather than pushing him away, opening her mouth for his rough kiss, letting her arms creep around him and pull him closer. They were both, she knew it, not in control of what was happening – she could feel the power emanating from the crystal, and she knew by his face - when they finally broke apart - that he could feel it too. Later she would look back with shame at her actions, for forgetting that he was betrothed, for forgetting that she was supposed to be bitterly angry with him, for forgetting how much he had hurt her. But eventually those thoughts made themselves known, and she broke away with a sob. He immediately backed away from her, horrified with what he had done.

"Keren, I'm so sorry – "

"It is too late for apologies to me," she said quickly.

"That was wrong of both of us," he said. "Eowyn…"

"Eowyn may as well have been dead to us both and you know it. For we cannot fight it, and I hate myself for betraying her, but we are also betraying ourselves for not allowing ourselves to feel and act as we – "

"Stop, Keren." Faramir turned his back. "I kissed you because I pitied you, because I wanted to leave you with a memory of what you had dreamed of. For I knew after our conversation tonight that we cannot see each other again."

A heavy silence fell between them as Keren tried to work out if he was telling the truth.

"It was a terrible thing for me to do, and I am not going to ask for forgiveness, or excuse my actions," he said eventually.

"Will you tell Eowyn?" she asked, partly not really wanting to know the answer.

"No," he said simply. "For it meant nothing. It was goodbye."

* * *

 **Author note: My first cliffhanger muahahahaaaaa. I will try to make the next update quicker than this one was!**


	16. Chapter Sixteen - Starlight

**,Author note: Once again, HUGE apologies for the MASSIVE delay. Great as fantasy is, real life does, strangely, have to be prioritised ;)**

 **Thank you to greengrl7, mezzieb1, Certh, Countess de Delos, Daeris1225, Jessy12213, fruityfangirl and sven123123123 for the follows and favs *waves***

 **Certh - oh wow thank you so much for your incredibly detailed, helpful reviews. The punctuation and grammar ones have been very useful and I hope there aren't as many slip ups from now on. There are two comments of yours that I will try and answer, I would honestly love to discuss everything you said but I would be here a while ;) I hate she-elf too, I've decided, and wish I hadn't written it. I guess I'd just heard it in the movies - 'give up the Halfling, she-elf' lol and it stuck in my head. You're right it does sound a bit derogatory, but I guess the black riders would be pretty sexist and racist to a female elf! Also your concern for Frodo's finger - notice Palen asked where the clean dressings were. The dressings needed changing - Frodo and Sam had of course been treated whilst sleeping, for their injuries, the rest is checking their condition was not worsening - Merry was just desperate for Palen to be involved! I hope you continue to enjoy the story and give great constructive reviews.**

 **Failisse 2001 - thanks for reviewing and glad to hear you're enjoying the story :) I am SO GLAD someone picked up on that passing comment on the girls' family background. I actually wrote that it was their grandmother who was born in Bree, who Keren was named after. But still you would have thought tales of hobbits would have been passed down from her to the girls through their mother... Haha all I will say is their mother, Orwen, you've not been told much about yet, and that is very deliberate. But no, she's not a Dunedan!**

 **Guest - I know not who you are, mysterious guest, but thank you muchly for your great review :) I think you give a fair comment about the 'medieval' tone slipping somewhat, but my defence is a) medieval was a period on our earth, not in Middle Earth, so technically the characters can speak how they like - HOWEVER I like the archaic tone Tolkien often uses, particularly with the elves and in Rohan and Gondor, and for the most part try to stick to that. Sometimes my characters do go a bit 'modern sounding' but to be honest I find it hard to make them say certain things without sounding horribly cheesy if I was forever thee-ing and thou-ing. Glad you are enjoying it!**

 **Wicked, jshaw0624, Hawaiichick, Rachetg and greengrl7 cheers me dears for your reviews!**

 **There has been a common theme of 'it's great that Keren isn't a hero or a warrior but a down to earth normal girl'. I agree, I love her, she is a bit messed up, but brave when it matters, just not with a sword. Also I've found that some folk don't like cliffhangers. You'll be pleased to hear this chapter ends fairly solidly. Also, THIS CHAPTER IS THE MOST IMPORTANT SO FAR, YOU MAY GO LIKE THIS: WHAAAAAT, OHHHHH, WOOOOOOOW, NOOOOOO, AHHAAAAAA or whichever of these you choose, all if you so wish. x**

* * *

Chapter sixteen – Starlight

Palen was beginning to wonder if Keren had abandoned the celebrations. Once fifteen minutes had passed she assumed it was no visit to the privy, and after an hour had gone by she realised that her sister had not returned to their room to check her appearance and make amends.

 _Perhaps she has retired for the night,_ Palen thought. _She did look a little pale._

Just as she had almost made up her mind to go to their room and check on her, Palen caught sight of Faramir returning from the House of the King, in the direction Keren had gone over an hour before. Immediate concern entered her head, for she had never seen the steward look so disturbed, and, she realised belatedly, he had also been absent from the feasting since the sun had started to set.

"Oh, no, Keren," Palen whispered under her breath, sending up a quick prayer to the Valar that her little sister had not been caused more grief.

"Mistress Palen," a gruff voice said behind her.

She turned and stumbled over her reply in surprise over who it was who had addressed her.

"M – Mithrandir," she said quickly.

"Watch your sister closely when she returns, I fear all is not as it should be tonight," was all he said, before turning away and disappearing back into the crowd.

 _What am I supposed to make of that,_ she wondered.

But before she could dwell too long on Keren's whereabouts, two small figures appeared, with Dannor behind them.

"The dancing is about to start, Pal," Merry said excitedly. "Save us a couple each. Where's Keren?"

"I know not, Merry," Palen replied. "I was just about to go to our room to see if she had gone there."

"Perhapsh she had too mush wine with dinner," Pippin said. "All the besht people did."

Palen gave a little smile, but could not stop herself from worrying what had befallen her sister. But Mithrandir had said 'when' Keren returned, not 'if'. Reassured that she was at least safe, she followed the tipsy hobbits into the Merethrond.

* * *

Keren had stood frozen for a full ten minutes, her fingers clinging to the balcony as if she were on the deck of a ship. Thoughts and feelings had deserted her, and she felt as if she had slipped out of time. Somewhere in the back of her brain was a dim awareness that she had experienced something that she could not explain, something that had once more set her off on a different path. It was oddly freeing. And yet beneath that – after her one final attempt to make him understand – was heartbreak that he had ultimately rejected her, despite, for one too short moment, acknowledging that he felt the same.

 _It meant nothing. It was goodbye._

She knew he lied, and thought him a coward, afraid to not conform to what was expected of him. Part of her felt she should be happy at the thought of him with Eowyn, as he did not deserve her honest and brave heart, but she knew although this was true that she was fooling herself – she was close to breaking once more. She was not sure she could be brave again, not after this, what felt like a true and final end to all her hopes. The memory of lying alone in her room, with no feelings, with a strange detached-ness from the world, seemed appealing once more, but it also terrified her, for to return to that state would be to allow herself to break. She leaned forwards and rested her forehead on her folded arms, shutting out the lights of the city. She did not cry, but rather felt a twisting begin somewhere in her belly, which made her want to grit her teeth and groan, as if she was in physical pain.

 _Mother_ , was her only coherent thought. _Mother I miss you, I need you now. Please._

But of course there was nothing – no gentle caress of her cheek, no warm embrace, no soft voice telling her all will be well. With the realisation that there never would be, Keren pulled herself upright quickly. She did not know where she planned to go to, what she would do, who she may see, but she just felt an urge to _move._ She spun round and took a single step, but then stopped dead as she realised she was not alone. Her initial thought was to carry on walking, and pretend she had not seen the elf, who was illuminated plainly by the light of the moon. But she knew he would not fall for that.

"Why are you here? Why are you always…?" Her words dried up.

On closer inspection Legolas looked ill at ease himself. His face, though almost always serious, was tonight especially drawn. He looked perplexed, unnerved even. And she realised that it was her that he was looking at with such a perturbed expression.

"What?"

Keren was in no mood to be polite, even to a prince among elvenkind. She watched as the elf blinked and inhaled deeply.

"At last I see the cause of your pain," he said gently. "And it grieves me, but greatly puzzles me."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You love," he replied. It was not a question. "All the talk of change we have had when last we met, it is all down to one being. One man. He has great power over you."

"He does not have…" Keren began, then realised the elf was correct.

"And yet, judging from his manner when I saw him walking from this place a few moments hence, it would appear you also have power over him, for he was much shaken. I was surprised and confused when I arrived here to see that it was you that had caused him to be so."

"You spoke to him?" Keren wondered.

"Nay, not a word was said, do not fear," he reassured her.

She was silent.

"I – I did not understand such love, before," Legolas began. "But now I see you, I begin to."

He took a step closer, and reached out to touch her hand as if to comfort her, but appeared to hastily change his mind.

"Seeing you thus," he went on, "I fear it, for it has not brought you happiness. And you are mortal, you will not have to endure the pain for long, whereas I…"

She frowned at his blunt words as he continued.

"An eternity. Even sailing to Eressea I would not escape."

Keren realised she had not yet discovered if the elf was married, but his statement made it seem that that had not yet come to pass. She had not had the courage to ask how old he was at their past meetings, but, now that she did, she felt somehow it was not a good time to ask. She sensed the answer would unsettle and concern her – thousands of years seemed impossible to face without love, despite the fact he did not seem to welcome it.

"My apologies." His soft voice brought her eyes back to his face, still and solemn in the moonlight. "You have had a traumatic encounter, I should be offering you words of comfort, not seeking them for myself."

Keren was surprised that an immortal being would admit to looking for sympathy. She knew not what to say to Legolas. She rather wished to just be left alone. But then what would she do? She could tell him everything, but everything felt too raw. He had guessed the crux of the matter anyway it seemed.

"My troubles must seem very small and unimportant to you," was the thing she found herself saying.

"No trouble is small," he replied. "And I see that something profound has happened to you. It is not for one person to measure another's sadness and compare it to their own. I see you are sad, so I offer you my…"

He seemed unsure how to proceed, for indeed, she thought, the situation was an awkward one. Keren could not imagine that many elves had had to deal with a jilted human.

"I offer you my friendship," he decided upon, "if you will have it. We seem to keep meeting, and I would prefer it if each time we met it was as friends."

"Is this because you said I am an elf-friend?" Keren answered eventually. She had almost forgotten his strange name for her.

"Nay, Keren, although I still hold that that is the truth," Legolas said. "This is because I wish to offer you my support and protection, and my company when and if you desire it."

Keren was silent as she studied his face. This situation seemed far more formal and serious than simply deciding she liked another human well enough to be their friend.

 _But I could use a friend now, it seems,_ she thought, _and so far he has spoken fair, if a little bewilderingly._

"That would be nice," she said simply. "Thank you."

"If you wish…" He began to move toward her, but frowned and stopped himself, looking to the starry sky. "Nay, no matter."

"What?" Keren took a small step nearer to the elf, away from the wall that had previously been helping to hold her up.

Legolas shook his head.

"I ask, perhaps, too much of you, it is no matter."

"What were you going to ask?"

Another look up to the stars from the elf, then a frown that she felt was almost directed at her.

"You remember our first meeting, when I offered – I offered to show you what I meant when I said I was sure you were connected to my people?"

"Yes. I ran away."

"You did." He frowned again, but then gave a funny little shrug of one shoulder. "But we know each other a little better now, and I trust you are more certain that I would not hurt you."

There was a little pause before Keren agreed.

"Then I would like to show you now. It is not much. Taking my hand would suffice. When we touch, I believe you will feel something that will, I hope, convince you that I speak truth, and that you are indeed an elf-friend. A true one, not just a friend of mine."

He came closer still, and held out his right hand. She studied it in the half-light. It was large, with strong and graceful fingers. The skin was pale and smooth from what she could see, as if he had never known a days' work in his life, and perhaps as a prince that was true, although she could not believe it – elves were notoriously good at maintaining physical perfection after all.

"What will I feel?" she asked.

"That I cannot say, for truth to tell I have not witnessed such a moment before, merely heard tell of such things. You may feel nothing, and then I will feel decidedly foolish."

She gave an almost inaudible huff of amusement at that – still, more than she had felt capable of.

 _My life gets stranger by the minute_ , was Keren's thought as she placed her small palm on top of his, and felt his fingers close around hers, encasing her whole hand.

There was no immediate great wave of feeling or understanding, there were no strange sounds or murmurings in her head, and she felt a little disappointed, for she had begun to expect something rather spectacular. Then she registered that she could feel something unexpected – his fingers were calloused and rough, not at all how they had looked, and his hand was warm. She had been anticipating smooth, cold perfection. Instead the elven hand felt… human.

"Will you perhaps come back down to the feast and dance with your new friend?" he asked her softly, a strange testing look in his eyes.

"That would be… nice," she said again, feeling a little stupid. She knew Faramir would be there, but suddenly she felt as if she had an ally against his presence, someone who could stand between her and him if she felt overwhelmed.

"Do not let one man rule your destiny," Legolas went on. "Come and dance, and drink, and have fun. Learn to live again."

At those words a dam broke and Keren was sobbing – with sadness, and relief that at least now she had an answer, that she could begin rebuilding life, just with a steward-shaped hole in it. It would be hard, but she would live. Strong arms came around her, and she felt herself pressed up against Legolas's chest as he held her and let her weep. She had not expected this closeness, but did not feel the need to back away. She had found someone who cared for her honestly and simply, and whose friendship was very much needed. She pulled away slightly and looked up into his face.

"Thank you," she whispered. She did not feel an ounce of shyness as she lay her head on his shoulder. "You are strange, but you are wonderful."

He went still, then slowly she felt his hand rest on her head, before warm lips kissed her brow. They stood silently together for some time, her quiet tears still falling, his arms holding her close to him. Neither knew what the other was thinking, but there was a calm acceptance that a strong bond had been formed.

"An elf-friend indeed," he said, as he let her go.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I am afraid I did not feel a thing, at least nothing out of the ordinary."

He merely grinned and beckoned her to follow as he led the way back down to the festivities.

* * *

"There she ish!" shouted Pippin, pointing wildly in her direction. "Pal! Pal, I'vounder!"

Keren looked over to her sister who was standing awkwardly still in the corner of the room, looking Keren anxiously up and down. She walked over to Palen, who had not appeared to register the elf beside her.

"I am sorry I have been so long," she said. "I needed some air."

"You have been hours," Palen replied. "And we were already outside when you ran off. It has got full dark since you left! Where have you been? We have all been worried, even Mithrandir told me – "

She stopped abruptly.

"What did he say?" Keren asked. "About me?"

"Just to look out for you," Palen said.

"I am alright, I will tell you later. I had help, Legolas – " She turned to face the elf, but he had vanished into the crowd. She felt a twinge of disappointment – he had offered her a dance, something which would have raised her spirits greatly.

"The elf?" Palen said, wide eyed. "Again?"

"He is a friend."

"But still a man. Keren, you cannot just disappear for hours with one man then return with another, how do you suppose that looks?"

Keren was silent – she assumed Palen must have seen Faramir following her.

"All is well, nothing happened."

 _Not even a half-truth,_ Keren thought. _But not a total lie either._

* * *

Legolas had just entered the room when he felt a gentle hand at his back.

 _Greenleaf. I would speak with you._

A low, gentle female voice in his mind. It had been there before, in Lothlorien.

He nodded and followed the Lady Galadriel into a quieter corner.

"The young human intrigues you," she said, aloud this time.

"She does, my lady," he replied.

"This is not your first meeting."

"Our third. She has always been distressed when I see her, I believe I can help her."

"I am sure you can, but be wary, for she is a strange thing. There is much of her tale that I can relate, but not yet. The time will come when she will know, and it will be her place, not mine, to tell it to you. For you and she are entwining already, it is beginning, you know this, you feel it."

"I – " Legolas was unsure if he heard the Lady correctly. "I know not what you mean."

"She is an elf-friend." Galadriel did not ask a question.

"She is. I have proof, although she, I believe, is unaware of what occurred."

"Proof?"

"I asked her a question in Silvan, whilst her hand was in mine. She replied, fluently, but did not seem to even notice."

Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

"Such things are not unheard of, although rare," she said. "This does not mean she will be able to speak your tongue at all times – she must learn it, for the moment has passed. Nor does it mean that she has recognised your bond."

Legolas's eyes flared at hearing what had so suddenly and unexpectedly happened brought into reality by the Lady's words. He did not know how to proceed, for he was still unable to come to terms with what he had experienced but minutes ago. He could not explain it to himself, nor how the Lady knew, but he knew what had occurred. He had stepped out onto the balcony and seen Keren, in a gown the colour of the forest. The bright lights of the city below were casting a long shadow behind her, almost to his feet. She looked at that moment like a maiden out of the oldest myths, like nature itself, part of the earth, part of history, sprung from the soil like a young tree, like a goddess of the ancient forests and silent woodland groves. Her hair was the colour of shadow and soil, her skin the white of the snow that fell on his homeland in winter. She had starlight in her eyes, made brighter by her tears, and her fair brow, like Elbereth, was crowned by the stars themselves. He had been terrified, for in that moment he had loved her, and known he was lost.

 _I – I did not understand such love, before. But now I see you, I begin to._

Keren had not gleaned the true meaning of his words, and he was relieved.

"You know your own mind," Galadriel began. "You know what you felt when you beheld her tonight. Again it must, as to how and why, be a tale of her telling. But she is not awakened to it yet, she has been following what she believes is the right path, and it is up to her whether she takes this one instead. This may be painful for you, but you know that pain is your lot regardless, for she is not immortal. Spare both of you pain for now – she must not know that you are awakened. She must not know of your regard for her."

* * *

The pipes and drums were loud and merry, as were two hobbits as they danced with Palen and Keren. They even managed to convince Frodo, a formerly accomplished dancer, to hobble round a little despite his healing wounds, and keep a smile on his face. Palen could not help noticing that her sister's eyes would often flick around the room, searching no doubt for a sign of Faramir. He, she was pleased but surprised to notice, did not seem to be present. The King and Queen joined in with many of the dances – at one point they were in the same circle as Keren and Palen, who suddenly found their natural ability to dance desert them as they watched the Lady Arwen glide around effortlessly, despite, they assumed, not knowing the steps.

A particularly lively dance came to an end, with much improvising from the hobbits, who were also not familiar with the dances of Gondor. No one especially seemed to mind their whirling limbs, and occasional stumbles, as their large bare feet collided with ladies' dainty shoes.

Keren was actually laughing with happiness, something which still felt very rare to her, and certainly something which she was not expecting to happen tonight under the circumstances. She whirled and turned in her own circle, the wine she had drunk on her return having gone immediately to her head due to her eating very little at the feast. She inevitably crashed into someone.

"Oof – oh forgive me, I am so sorry," she said laughingly to the air, until the stern face came into focus before her. "Mithrandir!"

He huffed with what seemed to her like disappointment, shook his head, frowning, and swept away, his white robes flowing behind him.

"That name for him is out of date, Keren," a soft voice said behind her.

Another elf stood before her, female, tall and coldly beautiful. Her long fair hair was past her waist, and her eyes were grey as slate.

"Grey pilgrim he once was, now he is resplendent in white," she said, which Keren assumed was an explanation. "But of course, he has many names."

"How did you know my name? I have only met one of your kind. Although… perhaps he has spoken of me?" Keren felt a little embarrassed to admit that she could have possibly thought Legolas had mentioned her to his people.

"Legolas Thranduilion has spoken of you, but he did not mention your name," the strange lady replied. "I am the Lady of the Golden Wood – you may call me Galadriel."

Keren opened her mouth to say that the lady had not answered her question, but the elf continued smoothly before she could draw breath.

"You will have many questions about what I shall say, but I may not answer them. You must just listen and, if you wish, do as I suggest. When the old King of Rohan is taken on his final journey, you must journey with him. Many of your new friends will join you. Some will be there who you may wish were not. But many will stay behind – your sister, your father. It is up to you whether you follow this path, but it may be beneficial to you if you do. You perhaps already feel, in your heart, that this city is not serving your best interests. You long for an adventure, for great change. This I can give you. Think on it. Our paths shall cross again if you choose to leave, for I shall also be journeying north to my home."

"But what – "

"I do not know what you shall find, but I know what I hope will come to pass. Your past is your future, Keren, daughter of Orwen."

"How did you know my mother's name?" Keren's words fell on the retreating back of the strange, tall elf. "Who are you?"

"That is Galadriel," said a now familiar voice, and a welcome face swam into view. "It is best not to ask her questions, for if she wishes you to have an answer she will already have given it."

"Legolas!" Keren said. "Will you dance with me now? Where did you go? I've been looking for you."

"I – I was speaking to the Lady myself."

"Oh." She did not know what else to say, but she did wonder if the mysterious elf had left him as confused as herself.

"The next dance shall be mine I trust?" For a second his eyes flickered to the side, as if cautious of being watched, but Keren later thought she had imagined it, for no such event occurred again.

She waited impatiently while the current dance finished – she was having a surprisingly enjoyable evening. The alcohol certainly helped, although she was desperately trying to hide her mild inebriation. When the musicians fell silent, Legolas held out his hand once more, which she took with pleasure, and led her to a space in the formation. She was hoping for another lively dance with many jumps and twirls, but to her embarrassment a stately, formal tune began, one which required grace, elegance and the ability to slowly walk in a straight line without looking ridiculous. She was a natural dancer, but she was not feeling quite as balanced as usual. Legolas did not help by saying close to her ear that he did not know the Gondorian court dances so she would have to instruct him where to go.

She frowned a little in pretend exasperation, although secretly worried that they were about to make fools of themselves. She was aware that an elf dancing with a human, other than the King and Queen, would no doubt draw curious eyes anyway.

Legolas thankfully was dancing as if he had been doing that particular dance all his life after just one repetition, and was soon leading her, and keeping her in a straight line. But then came the section that Keren had forgotten about – the lifts.

The dancers were assembled all in one long line down the centre of the room. There was nowhere to hide. She had no doubt that the elf was strong, and she was small and light, but still she was concerned that in front of all she may grow dizzy and nauseous with the effect of being thrown around, the wine roiling inside her.

She only had time to shoot Legolas a quick warning glance before grabbing his arm and placing it around her waist, then putting her hands on his shoulders.

"I'm going to jump, you have to spin me round," she gabbled quickly with only two beats of music to go. "Quick, now, now!"

And she was flying. The elf timed it perfectly with the other couples, keeping a sharp eye out for when to return Keren to the ground. She landed lightly and gracefully as he controlled her descent.

She gave a little breathless laugh.

"Seven more of those and we will have done alright," she said.

The next lift was more successful as both had more time to prepare. Both of his strong arms held her firmly a little lower down, and she jumped higher, pressing down on his shoulders. She was much higher than before, and spotted the gleeful faces of the hobbits as they watched.

By the time they had worked their way down the line ready for the final lift it was truly perfected. They had moved closer together and Keren felt a little sad each time they broke apart. When the time came she placed her hands on his shoulders, but was surprised when he pulled her closer so that their entire bodies touched. She did not have time to react before she jumped and he lifted her high into the air, his hands tight around her small waist. She felt such joy and freedom that she threw her head back and laughed as she was spun around in the air. Legolas could not resist holding her a little longer than the music permitted, as it made his heart glad to see her enjoying herself. Never before had he seen her laugh and smile like this. Keren was oblivious to the eyes watching them as the pair seemed to forget the others in the room, she so much higher than the other ladies due to Legolas's long limbs. But Legolas knew they were being watched, by two pairs of grey eyes in particular – the Lady he was aware of why, but why Gandalf was studying them so intently he did not know. Reluctantly he lowered Keren to the ground, letting her body slide down his, as slowly as he dared. The different motion caused her to look down at him, and he held her gaze until she was on her feet. His hands stayed around her waist, and her hands came to rest on his chest.

She was so small next to him. How he wished to cradle her head to his heart in front of all, and tell her everything, even if he could not explain it yet. She was looking up at him, a small frown pulling at her brows.

"I had not noticed your eyes before," she said. "They are grey."

There was a slight pause as she looked down at the ground. When her eyes met his again they were wet with tears.

"Like his," she whispered. "I cannot even escape him with you."

She turned to run, but he grabbed her arm.

"Keren, do not run from me again."

"I do not want to cause a scene here, everyone is watching us," she said hastily.

"Then stay, stay and have fun. Although perhaps no more wine for you."

She gulped and chuckled a little at that.

"Do you think I will be alright Legolas? Truly? Do you think I will find someone else?"

He looked down at her steadily.

"First you must find yourself, and make peace and be happy with who you are."

She blinked, his words reminding her of the Lady Galadriel's strange parting comment.

 _Your past is your future, Keren, daughter of Orwen._

"I think I must leave Gondor," she said.

* * *

 **Author note:** **Ok so can I ask people's opinion? I have always planned to spilt this story into three parts. I am, I think, two chapters away from ending the first 'book'. Would people want me to carry on with the next two books under the title 'A face in the crowd' i.e. what you are reading now, and simply split the tale using the chapter headings eg. book two, chapter one? Or would you prefer me to start new 'stories' with separate titles so it is clearer to find the part that you want? That would mean separately following or fav-ing all three 'stories'. I'm not really sure what is best. I'm tempted to leave it as one super long story for simplicity, but that means that the title of the first 'book' is the only one that new readers will see, and tbh 'a face in the crowd' isn't that great as it is really only relevant to the first portion of the story. What say you? I don't want people to think they are 'sequels' as I have already planned the whole story, it's just breaking it up. I hope that makes sense!**

 **ALSO (sorry but it's been a long time as you know, and I have a lot to say! If there are any artists reading this who have a tiny bit of spare time - I would one day love to see some of my scenes and characters brought to life. There I said it - you don't ask you don't get haha. I thought it was worth a try - please get in touch if this is something you would be interested in helping with, just for fun! x**


	17. Chapter Seventeen - Rohan

**Author note: Many apologies *again* for the delay. But good news - I have finished the first book! This means two chapters posted today! It's taken me A YEAR AND THREE MONTHS to get this book done, which is super frustrating as way back in July last year I plotted all the way to the end of the trilogy. I hope I don't take as long with the next two books, but I'm not making any promises ;)**

 **Thanks for all your feedback re. whether to split the story. I've decided to keep it as one big document so it's all in one place. I will not be changing the name, and each new book will simply be 'Book 2' and 'Book 3'. I will update the chapter titles so you don't lose which book you're in!**

 **Zip001, AxidentlGoddess, Hawaiichick, Certh, Guest E, Rachetg, allebiouqruop, Me and jshaw0624 t** **hanks so much for your reviews - I'm almost at 100 now! My favourite part of all this is reading your reactions and suggestions. I love that people take the time to leave great, helpful, kind reviews!**

 **WickedGreene13 - You win best reaction haha. I've messaged you about artwork, so exciting!**

 **Thanks Zip001, TetiSherii, Anastasia Slytherin, Woman of Letters, trouvaille, LovelyBoA, allebiouqruop, Raelan87 and anaylen for the follows and favs.**

* * *

 **Chapter seventeen – Rohan**

Eowyn was tired. It had been a long final stretch of their journey, and she looked up at the white walls towering above the plains with great relief. A sideways glance at her brother's drawn face however reminded her that they were here for an unpleasant, if honourable, task.

In just a few days' time, she and Eomer would undertake the journey again, this time bearing the corpse of her uncle, travelling with him on his final ride home. Many of their new friends and acquaintances would join them, to be present as Theoden was laid to rest in the royal cemetery at the foot of Edoras.

But another event was to occur there, one which only three people knew of. She had tentatively informed Eomer of her and Faramir's desire to marry, and he had insisted that on the very day they lay their uncle to rest, the same day that he was welcomed as the new King of Rohan, they must plight their troth in front of all.

"For it will bring all of our people joy, I know it, to see you so happy," he had said.

And she was, she _was_ happy. She was to see Faramir in a matter of minutes, the man who had finally brought her to life.

She had loved before, deeply, unrequitedly, but she had had no joy in it. Aragorn was to her what an elf was to Merry, she realised with some humour. Too different, too distant. Faramir was her equal, her mirror, somewhat constrained by his position and fears, like her. And yet he had a simple wonder for life that she had not formerly possessed. He had taught her many things in the short time they had spent together, and she had known, as they stood together in the face of total evil, that she had found a true companion.

It was slow progress, she knew, for she had yet to shake her stiff, somewhat formal manner around him sometimes. But there had been days when they had laughed together until she had cried, and it was with a hidden, secret smile that she rode towards him now.

* * *

For Keren, gone were the days of not feeling, and working automatically – now she felt greatly, sometimes a little too much, and could swing from happiness to grief quickly, leaving all who knew her confused and a little worried. But she had confided to Palen that she would rather live thus for now, rather than return to the horrible state of nothing-ness. Now when she worked she truly listened, and _felt_ , and was greatly pleased when she helped someone on the path to wellness.

She could not say for certain what had brought about this change, but she had a suspicion it was to do with her instructions from the strange Lady Galadriel, which she had so far kept secret from all except Palen.

She knew not what was coming, but at least it was something.

It was with wonder and a little annoyance that the warden had accepted her request to leave the employ of the Houses.

"But, Keren, you are one of my best healers, and at such a young age you could become highly renowned for your skill given time," he had said, bewildered at her sudden desire to leave.

"I know, sir, but – "

"And we will miss you not only as a healer but as a friendly face about the place," he went on, interrupting. "I cannot understand what has brought this on. Are you unhappy here?"

"The Houses are my home, sir," she had said. "I have not always been happy here, but that is nothing to do with my position, or the work, or any of the people here."

"Then why?"

"I just feel it is the right time to leave, to… to try other paths," she said blandly. "Even though I know not what I shall find, I would forever regret it if I do not try something new. I have a strange yearning to see new places and learn new things, even though I know it means leaving home."

"But where will you go?" he asked.

"Perhaps to Dol Amroth." She plucked a place of Gondor from thin air, for if she mentioned that she was travelling to Rohan, and from there who knew, she thought he would question her sanity.

"Well there is trade to be found there, to be sure," he said reluctantly, "but I would worry for your safety. How would you travel?"

"I have a friend in the city who wishes to visit there," she lied, easily.

"And how long will you be gone for?" He was becoming exasperated.

"That I cannot answer easily," she said, and she knew this was to be the sticking point, for she guessed that her position at the Houses would no longer be open to her on her return. "But… I am hoping to return. My family are here, I could not be parted from Palen for too long."

"What does she say to all this?" he wondered.

"Not much," Keren admitted, for Palen had learnt not to be surprised where Keren was concerned now, and took it for granted that her sister had made up her mind to leave. "She is not happy, but she does not wish to hold me back."

He sat silently, his hands clasped before his lips, elbows on the table, with his dark eyes looking at her shrewdly.

"Well, sir?" she asked hesitantly.

He sighed, and seemed to think a short while before speaking.

"I do not know what to say to you Keren," he finally said. "You wish to go, and indeed I cannot force you to stay, I am not a slave driver. You chose to come to us as a child, and now you are a woman you are choosing to leave. I am… sad that this is what you wish, but I have to accept your choice, as imprudent and unwise as I believe it to be."

Keren felt a lump rise in her throat at the disappointment from the strict, stern man she had come to like and respect. She knew that one day soon he would find out where she was truly travelling to, and question her lies, and no doubt be even more disappointed.

"I am sorry, sir," she said quietly. "I will be very sad to leave, and I hope that if I return the door will be open for me to return to my post. I know that is maybe too much to ask but – "

"Our doors will always be open to you Keren, I promise," he said. "Just stay safe."

* * *

Tears were shed by both Keren and Palen at their parting, for they were very close, and knew not when they would be reunited. A small part of Palen worried if they ever would, so strange had her sister's life become.

Keren had gone to her father separately, telling him of her plans, to which he had shown surprise, and, she thought, a little fear.

"You'll not be going north?" was the first thing he had said.

"I will go as far as Rohan," she had replied. "It is a great honour."

"And from there? You'll be coming back here?"

"I – I do not know, perhaps I shall travel further north."

She did not realise until the moment she said it, but once it was out of her mouth she knew that that was what she desired to do. It would never come to pass, for she knew no-one to travel with, nor had any knowledge of the land beyond Gondor other than what the hobbits had described to her. To venture past Rohan on her own would be certain death. And yet something within called her to dare, or at least acknowledge the desire to see the wider world.

"No child of mine is going beyond the Entwash, nor do I even want you in sight of it," Malerond said quickly.

"But my grandmother was from the North!"

"Your mother's mother, not mine, and she was from far beyond the 'Wash."

"From Bree?" Keren wondered whether her father would finally tell her more of her mother's family.

"Aye, but that means naught to me," he said. "It is on no map that I have seen."

"But she must have said _something_ about it."

"Your mother was never there, her family left before she was born."

"I know all this," Keren said, frustrated. "And then mother was born here, and her mother died in childbirth."

Her father was still, opened his lips a fraction, then shut them tightly again.

"Father?" Keren pushed for more information, which she knew he had.

"Your mother was born on the road," he said reluctantly. "I know not where. Your grandmother perished, and I think some others of her family did not reach Gondor either. But they knew what they risked – travelling is dangerous and hard on the body. I know naught else of it all. Do not go looking for answers. The lands to the North are vast and beyond our reckoning, and there will be nothing to find. Once your business is done with the high folk of Rohan you are to return home."

Keren blinked, taking in this, the longest speech she had heard him make for years.

"Thank you, father," she said, for not only had he given her information of her family, he had also silently given his permission for her to leave the city. She wondered why she thought she had needed it as she turned to leave. She felt a strange tug of her heart and pushed it down.

"Goodbye, daughter," he said with a nod of his head, as if she was an untrustworthy stranger, with all her talk of travel and strange lands.

Maleron had not been so afraid for his daughter in his life, and now perhaps she was lost to him forever. Danger lay beyond their borders, strange lands and people, and he knew far better than Keren what grief they could bring.

* * *

"Behold, the King Elessar is come! The Forest of Druadan he gives to Ghan-buri-Ghan and to his folk, to be their own for ever; and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!"

They were in the Grey Wood in the region of Anorien, but Keren could not even point out on a map where exactly that was. She felt foolish and ignorant, for it was only their second day out of Minas Tirith.

She looked all around her as the sound of drums rolled around the large group of travellers, answering Elessar's heralds, but she could see nothing. She was surrounded by the best warriors of both Rohan and Gondor, plus of the elven folk, but a shiver of fear went up her spine at the sound of those unseen drums.

Unlike on her journey to Cormallen, this time she had not looked back at the city– not out of lack of care, but more because she knew if she had she would have run all the way back to the Houses.

It was a solemn journey and a strange group, in which she spent all of her time at the back of, with very little company. All of her friends had positions of honour close to the wain carrying the body of Theoden – which she felt fortunate avoiding the sight and smell of, the king having been dead for over four months. Her healer's realistic, non-romantic brain pitied Merry, who was sat atop the wain in his rightful place as esquire, and hoped that the wind was blowing away from him.

Eowyn was also close to the King, riding with her brother just in front of the wain, and on the other side of her was Faramir. During the day enough people had separated her from him, but she was sure that when they reached their destination their paths would eventually cross. Riding before him was his new guard captain, Beregond. Keren had not spoken to him on the journey, and slowly had come to realise their friendship would end when he left Gondor for Ithilien with Faramir.

At night she stuck firmly with the few servants that had been granted the honour of travelling with their illustrious masters, but that first night they had not been talkative. They seemed unsure as to why she was there, and she spun a quick story about a healer being necessary on the journey, which she knew would not wash, as among the elves were some of the finest healers ever born. All were too polite to question her, but she knew she would not make any friends.

She had some idea of how long they were to be travelling from the hobbits, for she had of course informed them that she was also to go to Rohan. They were excited to have her company, for it meant the time to say farewell was a little farther off. From Rohan they would return home. Already they had had to part from Palen, never to meet again.

The crystal was now in a small pouch tied to a belt around her waist, no longer a weight in her pocket that was all too easy to touch, but she had feared to leave it behind for anyone to find.

Sadly, she could not see much prospect of being able to see her friends on the journey, and if their reckonings were correct she had at least twelve days to endure without their company. Luckily the weather was warm, and she had so far had no complaints about sleeping under the stars. She just hoped the servants would thaw a little.

* * *

In the end they were on the road for fifteen days, maintaining a slow pace out of respect. Keren had tried to keep track of the passing of time, but was so tired by the time they finally reached Edoras that she had lost count, and could barely lift her head to look around her. She was not used to travelling long distances, and she only dimly registered a craggy hill rising in the middle of the plain, with what looked like simple wooden huts with roofs of thatch atop it. As they drew nearer her tired eyes tricked her, for it seemed that the largest of the huts had instead a roof of gleaming gold.

She had not won any of her travelling companions around, so had no one to exclaim to in surprise, her friends all still way ahead. It had been a lonely and uncomfortable fortnight and she would be sorely glad of a bed and a bath, and the chance to see her companions again, but was not sure if she would get any of those in this strange place.

She knew she was a long distance from Minas Tirith now, and that this must be Edoras, the nearest thing to a city that Rohan had. Strange mounds rose up from the plains by the gates at the foot of the hill, and from there a rough road rose steadily winding up through the town.

Through these gates the party went and, while a short distance to the top compared to Minas Tirith, it felt a long trek to Keren, who was ready to fall out of the saddle. Many eyes watched the procession as it went past buildings large and small.

It was so very different to home. Her thoughts flitted briefly to when she might see that home again, but was distracted by the procession coming to a halt.

"What's happening?" she asked the man to her right after a couple of minutes of stillness.

"They'll be getting the King into the Hall I expect," he replied in the strange accent which she had learnt over the fortnight was common to the working folk of Rohan.

Shortly after they began moving again, and Keren was led to the stables. Saddle sore and with legs wobbling, her and the older woman she had been sharing a horse with for most of the journey dismounted and stretched their tired muscles.

"Rohan horses are the finest," the woman, Eadgith, said, "and Leofric has carried us well."

She frowned at Keren for not showing enough gratitude, but Keren was not a natural horse lover or rider, especially after a fortnight in the saddle.

"Come then, we must to Meduseld," Eadgith said, "though where they will put you and what they will do with you I know not."

Keren's hope for a bed and bath fell dramatically, and she had pictures of her sleeping on the floor on straw or rushes, like the lowest of servants. She was not proud, but nor was she used to not having luxuries like a private room. She gritted her teeth, forced open her tired eyes and followed Eadgith up to the golden hall – Meduseld, home to the Lords of the Mark.

* * *

On her first night in Edoras, Keren dreamt of the Houses of Healing, but they were not how she knew them. She could not find her room, and the corridors were long and black, and whenever she ran from door to door they were slammed in her face. The last one, however, opened. Behind it was a strange grey creature with bulging eyes, which jumped out and made her scream before it began poking her in the arm viciously.

"Keren! Psst! Keren!" Pippin's voice sounded in her ear, and she opened her eyes with a start. "At last I've found you," he said, and stopped poking her arm. "What _have_ you been doing?"

"Ssh, Pip," she whispered, for all slept around her. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same for you," he replied quietly. "You have _told_ them you're not a servant?"

"Well…" She had not, for she knew no one would believe her. Besides, she was far from grand enough to stay in the buildings that housed all the fine folk.

But nor was she accustomed to having to fight for a space by the fire on the floor of the great hall of Meduseld, bedding down with almost a full roomful of servants, so Pippin had found her curled around herself in a cold corner of the hall.

"But this simply will not do!" Pippin cried.

"Please be quiet Pip," she begged. "What are you doing up at this hour anyway? There has been no feasting tonight. They are all due to start work when the sun rises, and that cannot be far off, we cannot wake them."

"And what will happen to you when the cock crows, you'll go and start sweeping floors and cooking like the rest of them? Surely that can't be why you journeyed with us?"

"Oh, I do not know what is going on," she said crossly, still rattled by her dream. "I do not know what I expected, but I admit, it was not this."

She sighed, fully awake now, and aware they were causing people around to stir. She got up, stretching out her back which was aching from the journey and from a night on the hard earth floor.

"Come on," she whispered, and together they went outside into the fresh air of the early dawn. The guard at the door gave them a curious look but let them pass.

"Just why are you up so early, Pip?" she asked as they sat on a wall.

He was silent for a time, but then turned to her and spoke quietly.

"Can't sleep," he said. "Bad dreams."

"Oh? Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes," he nodded with a smile. "But sometimes it is like my mind cannot process all that has occurred since I left home, especially as some of it has been, well, not very nice, and I lie awake, or I dream… bad memories."

"Well I can… Is there anything I can do?" Keren asked.

"Not really." Pippin sighed. "Although you can promise me that you will find a way to see us, and to not work too hard, if at all."

"I am not sure I can promise that, Pip."

"Well then, we shall just have to find a way," he said.

* * *

Two more nights passed, both of which Keren spent on the floor of the hall. Her days were spent awkwardly, for no one quite knew where to put her. She occasionally assisted with menial tasks in preparation for the funeral, but never anything that took her within the presence of her friends, or indeed of Faramir and Eowyn, which she supposed was a blessing.

She had realised that if she kept herself to herself, and not enquire what was to happen, then no one would approach her. Indeed, most people thought she was strange, and knew not why she was there. Many had assumed she was a servant, but she had briefly been seen talking to one of the halfling friends of the King. Folk tended to leave her be.

She found herself wandering alone for a lot of the time, and she felt great freedom exploring the streets, and viewing the great plains and mountains from the vantage point of the city on its natural hill.

Meals were eaten altogether in the hall of Meduseld, but she was always at the very far end near the draught of the door, out of hearing and sight of anyone she knew.

The third day, the tenth of August, as the sun set, was the time that she had been dreading. All were to be present for the burial of the old king, but, in the end, Keren's fears of being seen by Faramir were unfounded, for it seemed the whole of the city was in attendance. She herself was nearer to the front than most, having joined the crowded procession at its start. She did not look towards the flash of gold which she knew was Eowyn's hair, nor the dark figure next to her, the familiar raven hair blowing in the warm breeze coming off the plain.

She watched instead solemnly as Theoden, laid out on a bier in full armour, with his sword clasped to his chest and many smaller arms and flowers laid at his feet and all around, began his final journey through the city. All the nobles of the Mark followed close, with men at arms before and behind, then came the honoured guests from Gondor with the elves.

As the bier approached the site of its final resting place, high on the shoulders of Eomer and three of the finest men chosen from the King's Riders, all were silent in the crowd. Keren watched as Theoden disappeared from the people's sight, and a stone was placed firmly in the entrance to whatever lay beneath the earth, leaving him in the dark, to find his way alone to the halls of his ancestors.

There was a flurry amongst the crowd as a group of riders all atop white horses began to emerge from the west. Slowly they formed a circle around the tomb, facing outwards as if to guard the old King. Keren wondered what was happening, and how long they would remain there, when suddenly one lone rider's voice burst into song. Keren did not understand the words, for he was singing in Rohan's own curious language, but she felt the grief of the crowd. The voice was soon joined by many others, and the men on their horses began to ride around the tomb with heads bowed. Many began weeping. She glanced over to her friends – the fellowship were gathered close to Eomer. But Merry was not with them. Instead she spotted a small figure, previously masked by the horses, stood all alone, at the very foot of the mound, his head held high but his face wet with tears.

When the sun had fully set, and the torches had been lit, the company turned from the royal graves and wended their way back up the hill. Many headed homewards, but the servants of Meduseld, along with Keren, went with the party of nobles and elves up to the Hall, where there was to be a great feast.

The servants all split off and went about their duties, most running to the kitchens to begin serving ale and wine. Keren stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling once more like she had no place. Her best option would be to seek out her friends, but she did not want to be seen as presuming that her place was with them and the fine folk. Deciding she could not block the door until one of them happened to find her, she turned instead to go to the kitchens, where at least she could be useful. Perhaps in the act of serving them drinks she could see them.

She turned quickly about to go against the flow of the crowd, not heeding who was around her, when a small arm flew up and grabbed her elbow.

"Oh, no you don't," Pippin said. "Tonight you're one of us."

"Pip! Oh, I'm so glad you found me!" Keren cried, and knelt down to hug him tightly. "I've had no idea what to do with myself these past few days."

More strange looks were thrown their way as they drew themselves into an out of the way corner of the hall to speak.

"I'm only sorry we could not get to each other sooner," he said. "It's been maddening to think sometimes we were even in the same room but we could not speak. There was never a moment to get to see you after the first night. Although…"

"What?" Keren asked, as the hobbit's face grew thoughtful.

"The Lady Galadriel, she asked me what we had spoken of then."

"Oh?"

"It was most odd, because I'd never told her I'd seen you. I said I had just wanted to talk to you, and to see that you were alright, and to find a way for you to spend your time here with us. And she smiled at me, and put her hand on my cheek, and said I had a kind heart, but I must leave you to yourself until the right moment. And I said, 'how will I know what the right moment is?' And she said something about an open door, and two choices, and I don't know what else. And I saw you standing dithering in the doorway just now so I took that as close enough."

"Well…" Keren tried to take in his rambling speech, but decided that she would never understand the words of elves so might as well give up on gleaning any meaning from them. Pippin seemed to have had the same thought.

"I think she does it on purpose," he said. "And it's not for us to concern ourselves with tonight. Now the King has been laid to rest it is time for feasting and drinking, and I am determined to have a good time."

"I too!" Keren agreed whole-heartedly. She felt that with Pippin and the others by her side she could face Faramir tonight. The shadow of home and all she had left behind seemed brighter and more real, as if reminding her that she could always return if she wished.

"Come on, then," Pippin said, and took her past the table where she had sat with the servants, all the way to the far end of the hall.

Meduseld had been made magnificent for the occasion, with bright hangings and the light of hundreds of torches and candles all along the walls and tables banishing the shadows, and the fire burning in the centre of the room.

They sat on a long table near the dais, opposite one where several elves had begun to gather. Keren found herself staring at them, like so many, for she still was not used to so much beauty in one place.

Queen Arwen and Lady Galadriel sat beside each other, both snow pale and grey eyed, and yet as unlike each other as day was to night. A male elf with silver hair was next to Galadriel, a quiet hand on hers.

 _Her husband?_ Keren wondered.

She remembered Legolas had spoken about love on that sad and strange night on the balcony, and he had seemed completely baffled by it. She knew that elves married, and had children, but did they, could they, love as humans did? Although the new Queen of Gondor looked blissfully happy, she could not imagine the Lady Arwen crying over anybody as she had, and wondered if, for elves, love was somehow easier. Less messy.

Beside Arwen was an empty seat for Elessar, who had chosen not to share the dais with the King of Rohan, for it was not his country, nor his feast.

Beyond Arwen was a stern looking male elf with hair as dark as hers – Keren blinked as she took in another figure from her childhood book of legends, for it had to be Arwen's father, Lord Elrond. Opposite him were his two near-identical sons, that Keren had seen riding out behind Legolas and Gimli to fight with the Host of the West. The sight of them made something mildly painful twinge inside her, for that day watching from the walls of the Houses of Healing shone golden in her memory, as Faramir had stood close to her, their fingertips touching, each feeling a little less alone.

There were just four seats at the high table on the dais. One for Mithrandir, sat already smoking his pipe. One for King Eomer, who would enter last to a fanfare of trumpets and horns. One for Eowyn, in her rightful place to the right of the King, as his sister. And one for…

Keren felt her breathing grow shallow and struggled to master it.

He sat a little awkwardly, one hand clenching the arm of the chair, the other fiddling with the stem of the silver goblet in front of him. He looked often at Eowyn, as if getting comfort from her familiarity. He was wearing clothes of rich, dark blue velvet, which Keren thought had always suited him so well. His dark hair shone in the light of the flames all around. He did not seem to fit in with the scene, Keren thought, for he was Gondor, he was _home –_ silver and stone, not gold and wood, as Rohan felt to her. She knew just by looking at him that he felt as out of place as she did, and she longed to run to his side and beg him to return to what he knew was right. But she could not let herself do that, even if the hall were empty of all except the two of them, for she could not forget how callously he had treated her, even if he claimed it was to protect her.

She realised she was staring, and thankfully Merry's voice snapped her out of her daze before it became obvious.

"Keren! At last!" he said as he took his seat beside Pippin. "How good it is to see you." He seemed a little less energetic than usual, for the day had been hard for him.

"Oh, Merry, how are you?" Keren asked. "I could see how much the King meant to you."

"Aye, as a father I loved him, and my heart aches to see him laid to rest. But I'm proud also. Oh, it's all mixed up."

She knew not what to say, so reached over and placed a gentle hand on his, and he smiled, eyes slightly misty.

Frodo and Sam came in with Elessar, and, as he took his place with the elves, they came and sat opposite Keren and Pippin, followed by Legolas and Gimli. Gimli raised his eyebrows in surprise at her presence, but quickly gave her a gruff nod, and a 'how do ye do?' as they sat.

The hall filled and grew loud with chatter as the food was brought in, and Keren felt guilty at such a solemn occasion for already starting to thoroughly enjoy herself. The food and drink were delicious, and the company was even better. Before long Merry was smiling and laughing with the rest, as all knew the time for mourning was over, and the time for celebrating Theoden's long life had begun.

Keren did not look over to Faramir and Eowyn again. They had not seen her that first time, but she assumed they must have by now, given her close proximity to them. She wondered what their differing thoughts might be on the sight of her.

 _Confusion, most likely_ , she thought, for that had been the expression on everyone else's face at seeing her there, minus Galadriel and her husband, whom Legolas told her was called Celeborn, meaning, in Keren's tongue, silver and tall. She could not disagree with that description.

"What does your name mean?" she wondered.

"My name in your speech is Greenleaf," he said, and she smiled at the new, strange image of a tiny new-born elf-baby, a little leaf on a great family tree of woodland elves. "My father and mother were perhaps sentimental… It was spring when I was born, the forest…"

He looked embarrassed.

"I think it is a beautiful name," she said, with a little smile, for seeing the elf amusingly uncomfortable was reassuring.

"Ha!" Gimli gave a shout. "They might as well have called you 'little sapling' and have done with it."

"And does your name have a meaning?" Keren said, to distract from Legolas going coldly pale. Great friends now, were the elf and the dwarf, but she had heard from the hobbits that it had not always been that way.

"Well, ahem, none that you would know in your tongue I'm sure," he mumbled.

"Gimli means 'star'," Legolas said quickly, and hid a smile.

"Oh, very pretty," Keren said simply.

Gimli scowled in a decidedly non-twinkly manner.

"It is time you had a drink, princeling," he said. "Remember your defeat the last night we feasted here."

To which, to Keren's confusion, the rest of the table burst into laughter.


	18. Chapter Eighteen - Farewell to Edoras

**Author note: Well this is it. Over a year in the making. The end of Book 1. Tbh I can't believe I've actually finished it. Thank you all for following Keren for so long. Now to start Book 2! See you all there. x**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen – Farewell to Edoras**

The food continued to come, course after course, washed down with ale or wine. The hobbits and Gimli showed no sign of slowing down, even as Keren was starting to wish for some fresh air as she felt so full she would burst.

"Where do you put it all Pippin?" she asked, as he tried to hide a burp. He shrugged his shoulders.

Merry had told her that feasting in Rohan was notorious, and, like at his home in the Shire, they would likely be up all night if they so wished, and the drinks would not run out. Disappointingly she learned that the people of Rohan were not known for their dances, and there would not be much in the way of it tonight – no space had been cleared.

"But it doesn't matter," Pippin said. "Last time we just danced on the tables."

Keren looked over at Merry, who nodded his head cheerily in agreement.

"Well I shall not be doing that," she said firmly. "Not even if I drink a whole barrel of ale."

Pippin was no doubt about to disagree, when he was interrupted by a rolling of drums and a blast of horns. All turned to the dais to see what was happening.

Eowyn came forward, a highly carved goblet in her hands. She stood beside her brother the King and spoke in her low, clear voice.

"Now we drink to the memory of old Kings, and to the golden future of the new."

She passed the cup solemnly to Eomer, and both stood still and silent as chords from a harp came ringing out, and a man's voice sang of all the Lords of the Mark, from the very founding of the line. Eomer drank from the cup at the mention of his late uncle's name, and Eowyn stepped a little in front of him as the song drew to a close.

"Let all our cups be filled," she cried, and servants sprang forward from the doorways with wine. Eowyn turned now to kneel before her brother. "Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!"

"Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!" Keren raised her voice with all the others in the hall, and drank.

Eowyn rose to her feet and turned to go back to her chair, but all eyes were on the new King of Rohan as he put out a gentle hand to stop her. A look passed between them, and she smiled a little and looked towards Faramir.

"Now," Eomer's voice rang out, "this is the funeral feast of Theoden the King; but I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father to Eowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall! Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien…"

 _No, no, no, please, no,_ was all that Keren could think as Faramir stepped forward, and she wished she could sit down or, better, run.

"…asks that Eowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all."

Faramir took Eowyn's hands in his own and together they stood before everyone in the hall, and Eomer raised his cup in a toast.

"Thus is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice."

All raised their cups to their lips and drank to the happy couple. Keren mechanically followed suit, and she could not tell if she was shaking through fear or anger as, for the tiniest moment, Faramir's eyes met hers. The look was not furtive, nor arrogant, nor cruel. There was no surprise, for he had indeed seen her earlier in the evening. There was an apology there, which only she saw, for he gave no outward sign that it was anything more than a passing glance. Something else was there too, which Keren took a little longer to process – embarrassment and regret.

She tore her gaze away from them and looked down at the table, a stupid, bland smile on her face so as not to draw attention to herself. She felt a gentle hand at her back, and looked at Pippin on her left. But he was standing applauding and cheering with the rest, and of course, he did not know a thing of what had been playing out over these many months.

But the person on her right did. He did not know all, but he knew enough. She turned to Legolas with a thank you in her eyes. He held her gaze a moment, then removed his hand from the small of her back.

 _I am sorry_ , his eyes seemed to say, _for all that you have been through, and I am sorry that you had to see this._

She took a deep breath, and no tears came, but she still wished to be anywhere else.

"More beer Keren?" Pippin asked, nudging her waist with his elbow, bringing her back to reality.

"Yes please, Pip," she said bleakly.

"Have a whole pint," he said gleefully, and she took it gratefully.

* * *

"Pippy-Pip-Pip, pass me the ale please," Keren said, laughing. " _Pippin!_ " She pretended to slam her tankard down on the table. "Another pint, Pippety-Pip!"

"Are you _drunk_?" her hobbit friend asked with disbelief.

"Yes," she said simply. "And I have never been so drunk before… Why are you staring?"

"It's just…" Pippin began. "I have never seen a lady drunk before."

"Well, it's all your fault. And a lady is allowed to get drunk, or at least merry."

"Pardon?" said Merry.

"Keren is drunk, Merry," Pippin said wonderingly.

"Well what do you expect," Merry replied. "She's had two whole pints, _and some wine_ , and I haven't been keeping count on that."

"Yes, but that's a lot for _us_ , not a human." Pippin frowned.

"I don't usually drink much, Pip, it's all gone to my head," Keren explained, voice slightly slurring. "And glad I am of it tonight," she said a little bitterly.

She felt very hot. She was now rather grateful there had been no dancing. A few hours had passed since Eomer's announcement, and Keren had lost track of what she had drunk. In that moment she felt as if the people sat closest to her at the table were her only friends in the world. For what had she done? Left a good position at the Houses, and a stable future. And tonight she wanted nothing more than to erase the cause of all this upheaval – who was currently sat less than twenty feet away – from her memory, by wiping him away with alcohol. She had never been a drinker, and she was aware that this was most out of character.

 _But then, I do not know who I am anymore,_ she thought glumly.

"I'd like another drink, please, Peregrin," she said with a polite, forced grin.

"Keren, is this wise?" A calm voice behind her spoke, and Legolas laid a hand on her arm, mainly to stop her tankard from hitting him in the face. "You have had enough."

"What's the matter, Keren?" Pippin asked seriously, before she could answer the elf, and the question caught her by surprise.

"The – the matter?" she stuttered.

"Yes," Pippin said. "Since we met you, you have always been fun, and often smiling and laughing, like now. But right from the start, it sometimes feels like a pretence, and when you think no one is watching you, you are quiet and sad. And I feel like – like there is something that is making you sad, underneath it all, just sometimes you're very good at hiding it."

She sat in stunned silence, unaware that she had let any appearances slip. Then embarrassment hit her, and she stood suddenly.

"I need some fresh air," she said and went quickly towards the doors leading to the forecourt.

The others at the table all looked at each other in surprise and alarm.

"I'm going after her." Pippin sprang up.

"Pippin, wait," Legolas called after him. "Pippin – "

The elf's words fell away as Pippin ran after his friend.

Keren heard his pattering bare feet on the stones behind her, as she walked quickly alongside the low stone wall, looking for a seat. In the end she gave up and sank down on the wall itself, trying not to think of the drop behind her. Movement had increased her awareness of how drunk she was, but the fresh air was already helping clear her head.

Pippin sat next to her, and nudged her in the ribs.

"So, come on then," he said. "What's going on?"

Keren shrugged. Pippin looked at her until he realised that no answer would be forthcoming.

"It's the Lord Faramir isn't it?" he blurted out.

"What? No! How could it – ? What do you…?" She paused, then sighed as she realised she could not dissemble. "How did you know?"

"I guessed the very first day I saw you, but it took tonight for me to be convinced," Pippin replied.

"The first day?"

"You remember," he said, "when you opened the door to me at the Houses of Healing, and we ran down the halls together with Beregond, and Faramir lay dying in his arms?"

Keren nodded, words and emotions sticking in her throat.

"And you sat at his bedside while we went off to find Gandalf? When we returned you didn't see us immediately, and I saw his hand in yours before you quickly dropped it. And the look on your face was just… broken. And I wondered what you were to each other. And then I thought, well, nothing, because you were… well, you were… and he was…"

"I was a healer and he was the Steward of Gondor," she said blandly.

"Well, yes. But then every time we have been in his presence you are more withdrawn, and now that the Lady Eowyn is here too… I am afraid you did not do as good a job of hiding it as you thought."

Keren sighed again, and flopped forward with her head in her hands.

"Are you in love with him?" Pippin dared to ask the question.

"I don't know," came the muffled reply from within Keren's arms. "I was, I thought I was, everything told me that I was." She sat up slowly, and turned to face Pippin. "But then, he hurt me. He told me he loved me, in a roundabout way, but he hurt me, and chose another. Chose _her_." She jerked her head towards the Hall. "And now I – oh, I don't know. I still love him, and I should not, and it hurts."

Pippin was quiet as he took all the information in. Had Faramir really told Keren that he loved her?

"So… what now?" he asked gently.

"Now he marries her, lives happily ever after in Ithilien, and I am destined to be alone," she said, fully aware of how pathetic she sounded, but not caring.

"Oh, come on now," he said, trying to hide a laugh at her dramatic turn of phrase. "You'll find someone. You're… Well, you're wonderful, quite frankly, and if you were a hobbit-maid I would be first in line."

He smiled shyly, then promptly fluttered his eyelashes and grinned maniacally.

"Thanks, Pip." Keren rolled her eyes, but could not help smiling in return. "But I really do not think I will. Find someone that is. Nor am I sure I want to. Life feels empty now."

Annoyingly she felt tears rise to the surface, and decided to, this time, blame it on the alcohol.

"What shall I do, Pip? What _can_ I do?" she asked in a small voice.

"Why did you come here?" Pippin asked. "If it was to get away from him it wasn't a very good – "

"No, I know," she interrupted. "It wasn't to get away from him, I knew he would come. But he will not be here forever. Nor shall she."

"But will _you_ be here forever?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I was told to come, so I came. I do not know what is going to happen, and I feel more lost now than I ever have, and glad I am to have friends here, for a short time at least."

"Who told you to come?" Pippin wondered.

"The Lady Galadriel."

Pippin's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh. Well, then, I would listen to her," he said simply.

"Elves are most confusing," Keren sighed. "Legolas has given me advice sometimes which I do not think will ever make sense, although the care behind it helps."

"Legolas?"

Keren realised Pippin would not know of their private meetings.

"He has… helped me, a few times over the past few months," she explained. "He knows about Faramir. To an extent."

"Oh. Right." Pippin's reaction was much like that of Palen's when she had told her of her meetings with the elf. Was it really so strange?

 _Of course it is,_ she thought.

"Can you face him again tonight?" Pippin asked.

"Who? Legolas?" Keren frowned.

"No, Faramir, of course. Because I want you to come back inside and have fun with us, your friends. And, if your head is clearer now, I am going to be most irresponsible, but fun, and instruct you to have more beer. That will help."

"I do feel a lot better for having some air," she admitted. "And another drink I do not think will hurt, not tonight. He will not speak to me again, I am in no danger of hurt or embarrassment."

"Other than dancing on a table," Pippin prompted.

"Other than – wait, no!" And they were laughing.

"Come on," Pippin said. "We do not have much time together left, you and I. Nor will I have many other opportunities to drink pints. Let's go in."

* * *

The grey light of early dawn was spilling over the mountains when many found their beds in Meduseld that night. Legolas, not especially needing to sleep, watched as his friends one by one staggered to their rooms, until he was left with only the other elves for company. Illustrious company it was, but he was in no mood to meet Galadriel's questioning eyes this night. He had been aware of her watching him next to Keren, for what reason he could not deduce. When Keren had left, his one wish was to run after her, hold her tightly and make her troubles go away – but he knew he could not help her in regards to Faramir, and that only she herself could banish the thoughts of him. So he had left her, and he had felt Galadriel's silent approval. He had wished for Pippin to leave her too, knowing that Keren found solitude helpful. Since then he had not spoken to her, but rather had watched her grow steadily more inebriated until at last even Pippin admitted she had had enough. The last he had seen of her Merry and Pippin were leading her outside for some air once more, promising to look after her.

He politely made his excuses to the table, and went to find his chamber, which he was sharing with Gimli.

Once outside he heard snoring. He followed the small sound, as it was familiar, and he knew the owners of it were not where they ought to be.

Sure enough, leaning up against the wall a little way along the terrace, their legs spread out before them, were Merry and Pippin, a low rumble coming from their noses. But more of a shock to him was the sight of Keren, also passed out beside them, Pippin's head lolling on her shoulder as she had slumped almost to the floor.

An unexpected fury hit him at the sight – the hobbits had failed in their promise of getting her to a bed.

 _No doubt they were enjoying the ale so much that they could not even make it back inside_ , he thought.

He felt a wave of protection towards her, and whilst he knew that the hobbits were only trying to keep her spirits high with their company, he was angry that he could not have been the one she had turned to.

 _I would not have left her sleeping on cold stone either_.

Without thinking he knelt and picked her up in his arms, deciding to leave the hobbits, for they deserved an uncomfortable night after this.

She did not even stir as he carried her slowly to his chamber, which was filled with more snores courtesy of Gimli, who Legolas knew from past experience would be passed out for many hours.

Gently he lay her on his pallet, brushed her hair from her face, and knelt beside her, elbows on the bed. He could feel that strange aura from her again, present each time he had seen her, but now brought to the fore. Crystals again. How he wished he could just plainly ask her what it was.

He instead took the rare opportunity to study her face. She was pale from drinking and lack of sleep – he imagined the nausea would hit her strongly when she awoke. Not since the first night they met had their faces been so close, and he was pleased to see the signs of exhaustion so present then had gone. But still, even in repose, her face was not peaceful, and he sensed that her mind was not at rest.

He loved her face – it was not perfect, nor truly beautiful, but he was attracted to her in ways he had never felt, nor thought he was capable of feeling. Her lips were soft and full, pursed in sleep, her eyebrows dark and elegantly, gently, arched. It was not a face to inspire fear or envy, but trust. Her body too he had noticed more since that night on the balcony. Wary of his thoughts going down that path, one he was so unused to, he turned and sat on the floor, leant against the bed, facing away from her. He would stay there, silent and still, in his usual position of one leg bent, one stretched in front, until she awoke.

* * *

Keren was half-awakened by a strange sound – she thought she must be in the mountains and there was a rockfall, but she knew that could not be right. As she was wondering what was happening she became aware of an unsettling feeling in her stomach, and rather thought that if she moved she may vomit. Deciding that would be a very bad idea she allowed herself to drift off into sleep again.

The next time she awoke she could tell that it was full day, for the light hit her closed eyelids, and she wondered where she was. Beneath her was a soft mattress and pillow, rather than the earth floor of the hall she had been getting used to. She had absolutely no idea how she had got there. The last thing she remembered was getting cross at Pippin for sending her flagon of ale flying while he was kicking his legs about dancing on the table.

She risked opening her eyes.

Immediately she shut them again, the light making her feel ill. Her stomach was roiling and her head was pounding.

She stretched out her limbs and rolled over onto her side, realising that the strange noise of earlier was gone.

After giving herself a few minutes for her head to settle, she tentatively tried opening her eyes again. She blinked a few times, for all she could see at first was silver. But then patterns and shapes started forming.

It was hair. It was very intricately tied hair. It was an intricately tied braid atop a head of long silver hair.

 _It's… Legolas's hair?_

Assuming she was still asleep and this was a very convincing, if strange, dream, she gently stroked the smooth strands, answering her patient curiosity from their first meeting – yes, his hair was as soft as it had looked. Finding comfort in the touch, she shut her eyes again, her fingers toying with the ends.

"You are finally awake," came the gentle voice.

"Not awake," she mumbled. "Dream."

"I will fetch you some fresh water," the dream said.

"No, wait, nice dream."

But the elf was gone. She went back to sleep.

* * *

A gentle hand on her brow woke her again.

"It is best if you drink now."

She scrunched up her face in annoyance.

"I don't want any more drink," she said dully.

"'Tis but water," Legolas said gently. "And I am making you drink it. I have put some healing herbs in it, to aid the symptoms which I have no doubt you are feeling. Drink it, then sleep again. I will come and wake you in one hour, by which time you should be feeling more yourself."

He quickly left the room. Keren sighed and heaved herself up into an almost-sitting position, stretching over for the jug beside her bed. Did he intend for her to drink it all? She eyed it warily – what had he meant by healing herbs? With an internal shrug she began to take gentle sips, knowing that to slosh the whole thing back would cause it to come straight back up again. She had never been truly hungover in her life, and at that moment had no wish to ever be again, for she assumed that was what was wrong with her.

 _Curse Pippin,_ she thought, as she lay back down to sleep, her stomach already feeling a little more peaceful, but her ears still ringing.

* * *

The rest of the day was, thankfully, an uneventful one. Legolas had come to wake her again as promised, and this time she was alert enough to feel mightily embarrassed about what had happened. He had explained how he had found her, and how he had gone to the trouble of putting her to bed, staying with her, and then preparing a drink to ease her head and stomach.

He told her that she was to have his bed for the duration of their time in Edoras, which was only to be for a few more days.

As he said it the truth of the words sank in for Keren. His thought and care in looking after her in her embarrassing, inebriated state had proved what a true friend he was, and all too soon they were to be parted. Keren could not see a time when she would see him, or the hobbits for that matter, again.

The remnants of the fellowship spent as much time together as possible in those last few days, and Keren did not wish to intrude on them too often.

As it happened, Pippin came to find her and apologise for the happenings of the night of the feast. Keren assured him she did not remember, and besides, that had been her aim. Her glance passed coolly over Faramir now, for she had learnt that he was not the only person that could put a smile on her face.

 _Nor never shall he again_ , she said to herself. _Soon he will be gone, and I can begin again_.

As she was thinking this, however, her hand drifted to the pouch where the crystal still sat at her waist.

"So, what do you plan to do, once we have gone?" Pippin's question brought her back to reality.

"I wish I had an answer," she replied. "And do not remind me that in two days we must part, forever. You have been such a good friend to me Pip, and Merry. But I know you must go home."

"It is a long journey," said Pippin.

There was a pause.

"If you really have no plan or place here, and if you _really_ want adventure…" he began.

"What?" Keren asked.

"You could… come with us." Pippin got out awkwardly.

Keren stared.

"I know you would not wish to leave your home, and Pal, and everything," he went on hastily. "But you would be welcome to come north with us, as far as you wished. You told me you wanted to see the world."

"When did I say that?" Keren wondered.

"Well admittedly you were very, very drunk at the time."

Keren sat, and did not know what to say or think – for her immediate first thought when Pippin had said 'come with us' had frightened her. For it was _yes_.

"I'll think about it," she said instead.

* * *

The large group who were heading to their homelands had made ready to leave, and they were to depart early the next morning. Keren learnt that Elessar would travel with them some of the way, for what reason she knew not. His wife was to stay behind, and Legolas told Keren that it was with great sadness – for never would she see her father or brothers again.

"Why, poor lady?" she wondered.

"She has chosen to forego her place in the Undying Lands," Legolas replied, one foot on the low wall of the terrace where they had met after supper. "She has chosen the Gift of Men – mortality."

"The _gift_ of men?"

"Death frees your spirit. We, as immortals, are forever tied to Arda." Legolas was staring out into the clear, starry skies.

"But we have the fear of not knowing what happens, where our spirit goes, when we die," Keren said.

She had thought of death often, after her mother's passing, and also seeing it so frequently in her work as a healer. She believed she had a soul, she believed there was something more to the world – for she could either believe that, or think she was going mad hearing voices from a crystal.

"Such thoughts are often on your mind, I feel, daughter of Maleron," came another voice from behind them.

Keren turned to see the Lady Galadriel silently approaching. She shot a glance at Legolas, silently asking if the beautiful elf always behaved this way.

"Wonder and curiosity over the future is to be encouraged," Galadriel went on. "Fear is not. Legolas, Lord Celeborn wishes to speak with you."

Legolas bowed and immediately retreated inside, aware of the clear dismissal.

"You chose to follow my advice," Galadriel said to Keren once Legolas was gone. "I am glad."

"But to what end?" Keren found her tongue, aware that her voice sounded shrill and childlike compared to the Lady's. "I know not what to do here."

"Peregrin of the Shire has, I think, made a suggestion?"

"He has," Keren said simply, hoping that Pippin had actually told Galadriel, and this was not the elf reading her mind. She was certain that had happened before.

"And what was your heart's response?"

Keren took a breath before answering, for admitting the truth was one thing, sharing it was harder.

"It told me to go, to leave behind everything I have ever known. It told me to be brave, and to have an adventure."

Galadriel nodded, unsurprised, then spoke with a smile.

"The road north is your path now – once you made the decision to leave your home you set your life on another thread. Peregrin is right, your place is not here in Edoras, but with us."

Keren stared. A light breeze lifted her hair and blew strands about her face, but she could not lift a hand to brush them away, for she felt as if she was frozen, as if the Lady held her in place. It was not threatening, but reassuring, as if she had been given some solidity enabling her to stand and assess her future with clarity.

"Tomorrow we begin our journey," Galadriel said. "Come with us, and you will have answers to many of your questions."

"But will I be safe? I have much to lose, travelling with you, away from my home."

"You will be provided for and protected," Galadriel replied, and Keren could not hear any hint of an untruth in her words. "You are a friend to the elves Keren, and we take care of our friends. Do not fear us."

"But where are we to go?" Keren chose not to expand on the topic of elf-friends, for she felt she could not face that frustrating conversation at that moment.

"To my home, as it is now," was all Galadriel said. "But on the way we shall pass many places, and if it is adventure you long for, you shall see things you cannot even imagine."

"Where is your home?" Keren wondered.

"Caras Galadhon, within Lothlorien, a great wood of light and gold."

"Is it… beyond the Entwash?" Keren asked, remembering her father's words.

"Far beyond," Galadriel replied. "But all waters, rivers and roads are one. And all lead home, if you wish."

* * *

The dawn arrived – Keren had spent another night in Legolas's bed whilst he rested on the floor. She had begun to realise that he did not truly need sleep, which frightened her a little. Was she really choosing to journey with these strange beings, to travel to a city of elves?

She had collected what little belongings she had brought with her, and went to seek out Beregond. She was a little apprehensive in doing so, as he was always to be found in close proximity to Faramir these days.

They parted, with much confusion on his part, as she had not told him what she was doing there, nor where she was going. Keren hoped to see him again, for in her mind she would always return home eventually. But then he gently reminded her that his new home was in Ithilien, and unless she journeyed there then it was unlikely their paths would cross.

He hugged her tightly when she began to cry, and felt pain at their parting himself – for many years he had been almost as close as a father to her, and both felt they had had too little time to say goodbye, although both knew why that was.

Aware that Faramir would be close at hand, she sadly turned from Beregond as he went back to his duties. Wiping her tears away, she almost walked into someone else.

"Keren!" Eowyn said. She paused awkwardly, not wishing to comment on the tears Keren had been anxious to hide, before politely carrying on as if naught was amiss. "I saw you here a few nights past, and wondered as to what had brought you here? And now" – she glanced at the pack on Keren's back – "you are leaving?"

Keren stood frozen, her nerves shot. She nodded, then realised that was perhaps not enough.

"Yes, I am going… home," she lied awkwardly.

"I am sorry I have not seen more of you, then" Eowyn said. "And I must thank you. I have not spoken to you since my time in the Houses, and you must know that I thank you most sincerely for all that you did for me. If it was not for your understanding I would not have left my room, and I would not have had the luck to properly meet the man to whom all my happiness is bound."

She was beaming from ear to ear, unaware that her words were poison to Keren. Keren attempted to plaster an answering smile on her face, but she could not bring herself to say how happy she was for Eowyn, for she knew the words would stick in her throat and she would give the truth away.

"Eowyn, my love?" came an all too familiar voice. "Your brother is wondering what to – "

Keren watched as Faramir noticed her and stopped dead.

Eowyn faded into the background as she met his eyes.

The look shocked Faramir, for along with the love and the pain, which was to be expected, was condescension.

Keren quickly drank in the sight of him, despite her feelings. She had not wanted or expected this meeting, but she could not help herself, and tried to take in every detail – for she would not see him again. He looked very much as he had the first time she had ever seen him when she was a child, his black hair whipped by the breeze, the stern gaze, the long aquiline nose, the grey eyes of Numenor.

 _Oh, how I will miss you,_ Keren's heart cried, remembering the times when she had been floating on air in his presence, when she had shivered at the tiniest touch of his hand on hers. When he had wanted to kiss her, and she had rejected him, fool that she was. _Oh, farewell, farewell!_

Eowyn was apparently oblivious to all, for no more than two seconds had passed in which both were still.

To Faramir and Keren it felt as if time had stopped.

He saw the simple, frank gaze, the pleasing face with the round chin and large brown eyes. Her dark hair was loose and blowing in the wind.

How different things could have been. He was a courageous man, kind and noble – but this young woman and all associated with her had shaken him to the core, and he knew he had acted, and judged, poorly. He loved her beyond all, but with a power that was not of the earth, so he had lied to her, and run from it. And now it was too late.

 _Coward._ That word from her mouth would haunt him for the rest of his days. He had proven in all other respects that he was not, but when it came to listening to his heart, and to her, he was what she had judged him to be. _And yet still she loves me, I can see it in her eyes. What pain I have caused her, and for naught._

 _You still cannot hide or deny it,_ Keren thought, willing him to hear her silent words. _Still you love me, still you remember that day, and you will all your life. And I will take that knowledge silently to my grave, and I will treasure it. No matter what else befalls us, we had that moment where our stars aligned, and we knew we had a home._

"I wish you well, my lady," she said to Eowyn, even dropping a light courtesy. Then she turned and walked away.

* * *

Keren was once more atop Leofric, the brown horse that had carried her from Minas Tirith. He was a good size for her, and well behaved, but it would take more than that for her to enjoy her time in the saddle.

"Plenty of time for riding practise now, mistress Keren!" shouted Gimli as he watched her bob up and down, trying to control Leofric's pace. "The road to Isengard is long."

She shot him a friendly if slightly frazzled look, and asked if he was going to teach her, natural horseman that he was. The dwarf was sat awkwardly behind Legolas, clinging at his waist, as he had for all their journeys together.

They had stopped just outside the gates of Edoras, to bid a formal, public farewell to their hosts. A smaller party by far than the one that had set out from Minas Tirith, Keren felt very much a minor addition, surrounded by the Fellowship, the King and the Elves.

At a fair distance from the town all the horses were turned about to face Edoras on its strange, jutting hill. Small figures were gathered on the terrace of Meduseld, one with golden hair, all in white, and one not as striking in the morning light, rather disappearing in the shadows with his dark hair and clothes. But the sight of him affected Keren far more. Around them were Prince Imrahil, King Eomer, and of course, Beregond, along with many knights and captains.

Arms were raised in farewell, and heads were bowed, before all on the plains turned about and began a steady pace towards the north-west.

Keren turned her horse slowly, allowing herself one last look at the man who, for almost ten years, she had thought was her future.

 _No more,_ she said to herself. _I am finding a new life. And he has no part in it._

Now, as she looked around, she saw friends all about her – strange, wonderful beings that she had not known even for one year, and yet had saved her, in some way. Pippin and Merry to her left, both with tears drying on their faces at parting forever from their noble friends, and on her right, the elf. He was looking at her with sadness and understanding, and she met his gaze.

There was too much noise around them for him to speak privately, but she felt his respect and kindness, and smiled a little.

He smiled back, then together they turned their faces towards the road ahead.

Keren's smile remained as she took in her company. Elves of legend and myth were behind her, the greatest wizard known in Middle Earth was before her, alongside a King, and two hobbits that had saved the world. She threw her head back and laughed with the enormity of it all, a wild, free laugh that was lost on the wind.

 _Oh, mother,_ she thought, _I hope wherever you are you are happy for me. I am going to see the elves in the stories you told._

She went to turn her head back towards Faramir, towards home, one last time. But Legolas shouted beside her, and it meant she never looked back.

"Keren, look!" He pointed up to the skies. "A good omen – Manwë has sent an eagle to guide our path!"

She arched her head back and watched the huge bird cut a graceful line through the sky, heading for the mountains.

 _I am going past the mountains, mother. I am going to see the elves._

 _And I am going to have an adventure._

* * *

 **END OF BOOK ONE**


	19. Book 2, Chapter 1 - The Glittering Caves

**Author note: Merry Christmas and a happy New Year! Here we go, starting 2018 (very soon), with a new book in the trilogy! Thanks gryffindorandcats, meadowbear, merlejacobs92, ten things, UnnamedElement, SharkyMole, IdaIdaIda, Julie010588, K Daniels, SilencEloquent, rhiannamreid, cat105 and Goddessofwarriorcats for the follows and favs.**

 **Thanks jshaw0624, Rachetg, InariKari, Guest, Tibblets and strider03 for leaving reviews. They are all so lovely and encouraging. I'm proud of what I've achieved so far, but I do look back at some parts and cringe, so to know people are still reading and enjoying gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside haha. I'm 1 away from 100 reviews - amazing! Who's going to be my 100th review?**

 **Another guest left a review saying that, at the point where they were up to, Palen is great but Keren is a tad pathetic, acting like a child over Faramir. Well, yes she is, and she is deliberately like that in the early stages of the story. If she doesn't have faults there would be nowhere interesting for her to go as a character, and oh boy does she go places! Thanks for leaving a review, you're right, Palen is a voice of reason and a great sister, makes me wish I had one tbh. I hope you continue to read and enjoy the story.**

 **A lot of research needed for this chapter, do call me out if you spot anything wrong. I'm trying my absolute best to stick to book canon, with a tiny sprinkling of inspiration from the movies. I've included a 'story so far' for anyone who is unfamiliar or would like a recap.**

* * *

Previously: When Keren's mother dies, her and her sister Palen find work and a new home within the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. They grow up there, becoming more and more distant from their father.

Keren's mother had secretly left her a crystal, which gave her guidance in times of need, although Keren did not know where this guidance came from. It told her that she would meet someone who would change her life, and when she saw Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor, beneath the White Tree as the crystal's strange voice had foretold, she knew it was him. Over the years she falls for him from afar, but her sister is wary of her strange infatuation.

Eventually Keren and Faramir's paths cross, and at first all seems to fit in with the crystal's prophecy, for they become very close in a short time. But ultimately it is Eowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, that he chooses, leaving Keren bereft, and feeling betrayed by her crystal guide. She turns to her new friends, hobbits Merry and Pippin, and an elf, Legolas, for support.

At the wedding of the King, Keren meets the Lady Galadriel, who tells her to journey North with the funeral party of King Theoden. Keren, wishing to escape the shadow of what might have been, obeys, but when they reach Rohan she is broken hearted to witness the betrothal of Faramir and Eowyn. Pippin asks her to travel further North with them, and Galadriel confirms that is her path, telling her to come to Lothlorien to learn more of her past. She leaves Rohan, not knowing what she will find, with a familiar group of hobbits, elves, men and a wizard.

* * *

 **BOOK TWO**

 **Chapter One - The Glittering Caves**

Keren realised she must have nodded off again, as she woke with a start at the sound of a man's shout. She drowsily registered her surprise, for she was far from a natural rider, and she was confused as to how he horse, Leofric, could have carried her so gently.

Then she remembered, and it was with a large amount of embarrassment.

So annoyed had she become with her inability to control Leofric, for they were going at a much faster pace than they had on the journey from Minas Tirith to Edoras, that she had started annoying those around her as she either rode into them or cursed more and more frequently. Legolas, taking pity both on her and the people close to her, lifted her onto his horse, Arod, with no time for her to argue. Gimli, not the strongest of riders himself, silently slipped off Arod's back and mounted Leofric, with nothing but a raised eyebrow towards Gandalf as a comment. Gandalf kept silent, a look of blank amusement on his face.

Not many had witnessed the fast exchange, and Keren quickly got over her embarrassment at her close proximity to Legolas, for he had grabbed her hands and wrapped them around his waist, laughing at her awkwardly waving arms.

"Do not be afraid to squeeze too tight," the elf had said. "You will be safe."

And indeed so safe had she felt that she must have fallen asleep, for now she had awoken with her head lolling forward onto his shoulders. She quickly snapped it back.

"Good sleep?" Legolas asked.

"Yes," Keren said shortly, still embarrassed. "Although I know not how I managed to fall asleep."

"We slowed the horses to a walk a couple of hours past, if you remember," he replied, "to give them a chance to rest. You fell asleep almost immediately."

"Well I feel much better for it," Keren said, yawning. "Although my back is a little sore."

Without thinking she let go of Legolas's waist and stretched her arms out, arching her back. Immediately she yelped as the rolling movement of Arod below her sent her slipping off the side of the saddle.

"Ai!" Legolas cried as he turned quickly to grab her and set her upright. "You and horses are a disaster together. You must learn to listen to them."

"But they don't speak!" Keren cried.

Legolas looked at her as if he did not understand her, and indeed he did not. The Rohirrim were masters of communicating with their steeds, but most other men were not, and he had little hope for Keren unless she was given many dedicated days of training.

 _Perhaps one day I could teach her,_ he thought fondly, but quickly stopped his thoughts from going down that path. They were a long way from that future yet.

"If you were wondering what woke you, Helm's Deep has been sighted, and the King gave a cry," he said, to move his thoughts from tentative hopes for the human girl he had bonded with.

She did not, and could not, know. Not yet. Legolas knew she was still pining over Faramir, an infatuation so strong it had almost made her lose her reason. But he would not laugh at her, nor chide her, for her foolishness, for such feelings could be overwhelming. His mind reeled that he knew such things now. At their meetings, all the advice he had given her about something he had not understood, her heartbreak over unrequited love – now he understood very well. He felt he was better equipped to deal with it, having seen far more of life, but it was also far more than unrequited infatuation on his part. In a few seconds, as he had stepped out and seen her on a balcony in the citadel of Minas Tirith, his heart and his soul had become no longer fully his own, and after thousands of years it had been an unsettling shock. Never had he thought someone could have so much power over him.

* * *

The wizard watched the pair as they smiled and laughed together. If he was right, and everything he thought came to pass, then the world would not have seen the like before. But that path was full of peril, for both of them, and he feared for them. He knew not what the Valar had planned, for all he was their kin of old. He knew Legolas would do well not to underestimate what had almost happened, what indeed could still happen, between the girl and the steward of Gondor, for it had its reasons, and he suspected, its history. It was not foolish young green-sickness, of that he was sure. He just wished he could get a closer look at that crystal.

* * *

Helm's Deep, Legolas told Keren, was a naturally defensive gorge set into the sides of the mountains that rose ahead of them, that had long been a place of refuge for the people of Rohan. At its heart was the Hornburg, a great keep with high walls and towers, never breached until recently, and even then it had not suffered a defeat. Behind the huge Deeping Wall lay a great hall, kitchens, stables, and miles of caves and passageways for shelter.

Keren craned her head around Legolas's shoulder as they passed through the earthen fence of Helm's Dike, on into Deeping-Comb, and the fortress came into view.

"It was not built for beauty, but for safety," Legolas said. "Glad of that we were the night we fought, although many good men were killed. It is a grim place, with no light, either to see or in its heart, and I will not say I wish to tarry here."

"Ah, but you will hold to your promise, Princeling?" Gimli's voice shouted from beside them. "The caves, do not forget, the caves!"

He rode off ahead, laughing with glee.

"What does he mean?" Keren wondered, confused by the dwarfs' unusual show of mirth.

"He claims that the caves behind the Hornburg are a wonder of the earth, and I have promised to at least venture briefly to see them with him, despite misgivings."

"Misgivings?"

"I am… not fond of underground spaces, unless it is within the rocks of my home, where we create caverns of light."

"Oh," was all Keren could think to say. To learn that the elf was… afraid of something, it oddly filled her with confidence.

The party rested that night within the walls of the Hornburg, a strange group. Keren felt very very normal, comfortingly so, as she bedded down to sleep surrounded by kings, princes, figures out of legends. She looked over at the elves with interest, as many of them lay still, eyes open, but not exactly what she would call awake. She suppressed a shudder, and found herself not wishing to look at Legolas in case he was in the same unnerving state. She drifted off to sleep eventually, her head filled with images of crystals, dark caverns and unseeing grey eyes. And horses.

When she awoke it was full day, and the large hall had emptied a little. The hobbits still slept, but the rest of the fellowship had gone. The elves had effortlessly arranged themselves into artful clumps, all flowing robes and hair. Keren looked down at her rumpled kirtle and shift, and felt her tangled hair in response, now feeling normal in a decidedly disappointing way. She sighed and felt her hand go to the crystal in its pouch at her waist.

 _Your choice_ , it seemed to say, but she knew this time it was her own head. _If you wish for adventure then you need to get used to leaving comfort behind._

She got up, and broke her fast quickly with some cured meat and now slightly stale bread. The water pouches were still full and plentiful, for they had a long journey ahead.

 _But where will it end_ , Keren wondered. _Where will it end?_

The day passed slowly – they were to rest at Helms Deep another night, for there was no certainty after this if they would find further shelter on the road ahead. Keren spoke with the hobbits, and wandered the stone passages of the keep, not straying too far alone in case she got lost. As the afternoon passed Keren began to miss Legolas's company – he had been gone all day, exploring the caves with Gimli she assumed. So it was with relief she saw them return mid way through the evening meal. The dwarf was beaming from ear to ear, with pride and no small amount of gloating. The elf looked thoughtful and a little humbled as he sat beside her.

"What were the caves like?" she asked him.

Legolas did not look her in the eye, and shook his head.

"The Princeling is struck dumb with awe," Gimli said. "For he did not expect to be so moved by rocks. Am I right Legolas?" He nudged the elf with his elbow.

Legolas came back to life a little.

"Indeed," he said softly. "There are no words I have to speak of them. Gimli alone has words fit for the purpose."

He was uncommunicative for the rest of the meal, and went and sat alone as soon as it was over. Keren, not having seen him behave in such a way before, went over to him.

"Legolas?" She sat down gently beside him. "What is it you saw? Are you alright?"

He looked at her a little while before speaking.

"I spoke true, I cannot bring myself to describe such beauty, such unexpected beauty," he said, then smiled at her in a strange way.

"Are they easy to find? I wish to see them, if they are as wonderful as all that." She tried to keep her voice light, for in truth the elf's behaviour was a little worrying.

"You would not find them alone."

"Then I shall ask Gimli…" She tailed off as a strange look came into Legolas's eyes.

"I shall take you, if you wish," he said.

For an odd moment she felt almost frightened, not since she had done at their first meeting, at the thought of being alone with him. She could not say why, for he was familiar now, and comforting. But for a second he had looked at her… differently.

"Alright," was all she said, brushing it off, her desire to see a wonder of the world winning out.

"Come then." He stood abruptly and left the room hastily, not offering his hand. Almost as if he was afraid, or ashamed, to be seen leaving with her.

Grabbing a flaming torch from the wall, he led the way through passages which became slowly less well crafted, until eventually they were walking on a floor of rough stone. The moon was high as they emerged outside, behind the great defensive wall. He had not turned or spoken to her once.

"Legolas!" Keren eventually had to speak. "What is the matter? Why won't you look at me?"

He stopped and turned quickly, before walking back to her, looking penitent.

"I am sorry, Keren," he said. "I am not myself. This place unnerved me, but not in the way I thought it would."

"It's not that, it's me, you are acting strangely towards me."

"Am I?" he said lightly, then turned to lead the way once more.

He brought her to a narrow entrance, almost hidden, and she could see why these caves had been chosen as a retreat. Legolas held his torch aloft.

"Stay close to me," he said quietly.

They passed through a narrow, dark passage for a time, and Keren reached for Legolas's hand for guidance. She felt his fingers pull back a little at the touch, but then they wrapped around hers as if nothing was amiss. They stayed like that until Keren felt the ground change beneath her feet. Her boots began sinking, but not into mud.

"What is that?" she asked, the shadows still too dark to see clearly.

"Sand," the elf replied. "We are drawing near."

Still holding her hand to help her balance on the shifting sandy floor, Legolas led her down the widening passage, and she saw it begin to grow light again.

"But…how?" Her voice echoed, and she could tell they were in a cavernous space.

"Look up," he said reverently. "And stop walking for a time. Just look."

A thick shaft of moonlight falling through a large hole in the roof lit the cavern with a silvery light, whilst the golden flame from Legolas's torch sent strange flickering shadows bouncing off the walls. Walls which were polished smooth, and glowing, glittering with sparks of light. All around, everywhere she looked, near and far, were gemstones and crystals set into the rock, sparkling gold and silver, greens, blues, pinks, purples, reds, in great stems hanging from the roof or rising from the floor, or running like rivers of light through the walls. In the centre, amidst sand and rock, was a silent pool, with no ripple of movement, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror.

Keren did not wish to speak for fear of the sound perhaps destroying the vision before her, as if it were not real, but she would not have had words anyway. She instead looked at Legolas with understanding. A shock it must have been to him indeed, that such wonders could be found beneath the ground, always a place of darkness and loathing to him.

Legolas let her stand in wonder, gazing around for many minutes, rooted to the spot, watching her with some amusement. Was this how he had looked to Gimli? Words alone could not begin to do the place justice – it must be seen.

Keren slowly moved eventually, drawing a little closer to him.

"I would like to see more," she said quietly. "Will you show me?"

* * *

In the great hall of the Hornburg some of the elves, listening to Gimli's descriptions of these great caverns beneath the earth, grew curious and wished to see the sights that had apparently left one of their own speechless, a feat rarely accomplished with elven folk. A move was made for Gimli to escort them, but Galadriel counselled against it, saying matters of great import needed to be discussed amongst her people that night. Gimli looked gravely disappointed, but his regard for the Lady of the Golden Wood was so high that he could not bring himself to plead with her.

She had slid her eyes over to the wizard as she had spoken, catching his gaze, then moved them over to the now empty corner which Keren and Legolas had vacated, unnoticed by all but her. He followed her swift look, and chuckled under his breath. Yes, the caves of Aglarond were best left un-intruded by others tonight.

* * *

"There are many more caverns," Legolas said, "though none so large as this. But some are more beautiful."

"More beautiful?" Keren wondered.

"One where all is gold, and the light from a torch makes it seem as if the place is flickering ablaze with flames. One where there is no surface beneath your feet but a clear pool lapping at the silver rocks, and if you venture to the edge of them you can see your reflection as in a mirror, and behind and above you all the stars in the sky, but then you see they are in fact tiny crystals in the black rock. One where – "

"Show me!" Keren cried. "Please," she added belatedly.

Legolas's laugh rang out, echoing round the empty space. They stood and listened to the echoes until they disappeared, Keren sensing that he could hear them long after her.

"We cannot see all," he said eventually, "we are dependent on this flame lasting, but a few hours we should have, comfortably."

She smiled with glee, and ran off towards the pool, shouting into the space, now feeling more comfortable that it was indeed real and not some vision they had stumbled into.

"Never did I imagine such places! Never did I think I would see such a place! I am so happy I chose to travel north!"

She stopped dead as she reached the waters edge, Legolas appearing swiftly beside her.

"But I wish…" she began.

Legolas waited for her to find the words.

"I wish… Palen was here, to see this too," she finished quietly, although in her head she had thought of Faramir. But Keren knew she would not have ever come here if things had indeed happened as she had wanted. She would never have got to see this wonderful place, nor Rohan, nor even Ithilien all those months ago. Life was strange in its twists and turns.

She felt as if Legolas knew what she had truly wanted to say, although of course she did miss Palen deeply. He placed an arm around her shoulders, a comforting presence once more, all the strange intense behaviour from earlier gone.

"Come," he said. "I have wonders to show you and stories to tell."

Twenty caverns he showed her, and some they lingered in, and some they did not. Some were dark when the moon disappeared, or there were no cracks in the roof to allow natural light in. Some were cold so that their breath rose in clouds, despite it being August. Still the flame from the torch showed the strange, smooth, glittering walls in all of them.

"Gimli has plans for this place," Legolas began. "To fill all the caverns with light again, to show its full glory, to start a dwarf colony here no less. The Rohirrim were not the first to find it, nor shall they be the last to use it, if he gets his way."

As he spoke they emerged into one of the chambers he had mentioned before, that of the walls and ceilings with tiny crystals like stars, and a floor of water-glass. It was small, but high, so very high. Looking up Keren could see a domed roof with large openings to the sky, the moonlight filtering through in sharp beams.

Carefully Legolas guided her to the edge of the narrow rock at the edge of the pool and together they sat, legs dangling over the edge.

"This is, I think, my favourite," the elf said. "We are deep inside the mountain, and yet I feel I look on the sky."

Keren lay back and looked up and around, as if she were stargazing. The high, black walls were so smooth as to almost shine, and dotted all around were the lights of hundreds of thousands of tiny silver crystals, much smaller than her own, and sparkling rather than clear. So many, and yet she could feel no power from them, not like hers, despite its more humble appearance. It sat now at her waist as always, hidden in its pouch.

"I know what you mean. It is so beautiful."

"There is another reason I have brought you here," Legolas said quietly, and she felt her breath hitch, hoping that she would perhaps get an explanation for his strange manner earlier.

"I thought there may be," she admitted. "Why?"

"So many crystals," he began. "Often I can feel their presence. I know not why, but many of my people have such a thing. Not a power as such, but a nudging, as if they wish me to know they are there."

Keren was silent, and knew what was to come next.

"I feel that…around you," he went on. "At out very first meeting, your fea – your spirit – called to me. This I think you know, for it was this I think you ran from. I did not mean to frighten you, but I did not understand what I was sensing, for you were human. I was drawn to your spirit because it had the energy of crystals around it and through it. So not only were you strange to me because I knew you were an elf-friend, but also because to me it felt like you had, have, a great affinity with crystals – stones of power or knowledge. And as time has passed you feel more familiar and yet grow more strange with every meeting, for still I do not understand you."

 _Stop now_ , Legolas thought, _or you will tell her what you did not know then, what she still does not, cannot know. No more_.

Keren remained looking up at the crystal stars, quietly panicking. Someone knew. Incredibly, someone knew. She had kept it so hidden all these years, even from Palen, only showing it to Faramir because he felt a part of it all. And now this elf, this strange friend of hers, knew without even seeing it. She did not want to, could not, talk about it, for the grief was still too near, remembering the night Faramir had held it, her finally sharing the secret with someone, with him – the whole prophecy, thinking about where it had led her. Or perhaps, she was beginning to realise now, where she had chosen to allow herself to be led.

"I feel the same about you, seeming both strange and familiar," she admitted. "But I don't know what you mean about the crystals," she said. "This is the first time I have seen any, and I do not feel anything, other than wonder at how beautiful they are. You must be mistaken."

 _He knows I am lying_ , she thought.

And he did, but decided she must have her reasons. He did not press the subject, frustrated as it made him. He wished to know everything about her, but realised she obviously did not know everything about herself either.

"Who _did_ first discover this place?" she asked, changing the subject back to Gimli's plans, and sitting up. "It is so well hidden."

Legolas, accepting the subject of crystals was closed to him, told her a brief history of the great men of Numenor, of which she already knew a little, for Faramir was descended from –

 _Stop it_ , Keren chided herself. _You do not have to link every little thing back to him._

She concentrated instead on Legolas's tale, of how in the Second Age, before the land they were travelling through was the kingdom of Rohan, before the men of the Mark had built their halls or bred their horses, men of Numenorean blood had explored the caves, but had no real use for them other than to gaze in awe at what they saw. The Rohirrim, much later, found them to be useful in times of war, and they had been a place of safety for hundreds of years. And now the lands were safe once more, along would come Gimli with his miners and masons, and forge a new Kingdom under the mountains.

"The Numenoreans – the real ones, not their descendants – did you… know them?" Keren wondered.

Legolas gave her a knowing look.

"You are curious as to how old I am," he said. "I was wondering when you would give in and ask."

"No that's not what I… well, it would be interesting to…" Keren tailed off.

He chuckled.

"I was born soon after the dawn of the Third Age," he said.

Keren froze.

"So no," he went on, "I never saw a true Numenorean. King Elendil and his sons escaped the fall of Numenor and sailed to Middle Earth, only to be killed. They survived the battle that claimed my grandfather's life, but not for long. They fought alongside my father. That was before he was afraid to leave our lands. But all this was hundreds of years before I was born."

"You… you're thousands… thousands of years old?" was all she could say to that.

"I am an elf!" he replied, smiling and giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "And I am young by my people's reckoning, yet I do not feel it."

Wanting to get off the topic as quickly as possible, Keren picked up on something else.

"Why is your father afraid to travel?"

"His fear began in the South all those years ago," Legolas said. "I have not set foot inside the gates of Mordor, Keren, though I got close enough. He was in that land of poison for seven long years, and after burying his father just outside it. He does not trust that the lands outside our realm are free from the taint of the Black Land, the evil he saw there. It is almost a sickness in his mind. I understand it, but I long for him to see that now things will be different, and the taint is no more. But he has gone from afraid to uncaring, and it saddens me."

"I am sorry," Keren said softly. "My father, I think, is also afraid of life, but when my sister and I tried to help he pushed us away, and the rift has never healed. So now he does not care, for that is easier. And we… we also have learnt how not to care."

"Your mother, you never speak of her." Legolas said gently.

"She is dead."

Legolas nodded in understanding.

"Mine too," was all he said, and Keren did not press for more, but took his hand in hers, kneeling next to where he had leant to look into the water.

Slowly she peered over and studied their reflections. It was the first time either of them had seen themselves together, and she noticed Legolas was looking down into the mirror-like surface too, the water so still their eyes met in it, each studying the other. The moonlight cast a strange glow on their faces, and the golden halo of reflected light from the torch sat still in the dark water like an orb of fire, as if the sun was shining at night. Stars shone around their heads, or so it seemed. Both felt strange. Neither spoke.

Their hands remained touching, and they drew closer together as they looked down at themselves in the depths. The stars in the rocks grew quiet and watchful.

"Is it unusual?" came Keren's whisper. "Us?"

Keren watched the water-Legolas turn his head sharply towards her.

"Us?" he said, as if checking he had heard correctly.

"A human and an elf. Or rather I should say a woman and a male elf. Being friends. Are we unusual? You have to admit we look unusual," she said, looking at their watery selves, total opposites.

Together they now lay, on their fronts with their forearms folded beneath them, leaning over the edge, watching their own conversation.

"I… have not heard of such a thing before," was the reply. "Many elf friends there have been, hundreds, over thousands of years, but never have I heard of a male and female bonding in friendship, although of course that is not to say it did not happen."

"Perhaps it was looked on as…well, perhaps it was frowned upon," Keren said. "Although you are an elf, you are still male, and perhaps I should not be alone with you as often as I am."

"Would you prefer not to be alone with me?"

Keren did not have to think about it. All thoughts of how he had behaved before were forgotten.

"No. Not now. At first, maybe. But only that very first time, and then not for all of that meeting."

Legolas took a deep, silent breath, and said something that he knew he probably should not.

"Of course, although I have not heard of any great friendships, there has been great love between elf and human of differing sex. Marriages, children. It is possible."

Keren, however, was ahead of him.

"Well yes, the King and Queen. And I know the tale of Earendil, Queen Arwen's grandfather, how he was born of an elf-maid and a man. And there are rumours that the Princes of Dol Amroth have elf-blood, everyone knows that."

Legolas was silent, and felt oddly annoyed. What had he been hoping for? He knew not.

"Are there others?" Keren asked.

"Yes, all where the elf is a maid, and the human a man. None like us."

Both were quiet again, the 'us' echoing loudly between them, each pretending not to notice it.

"Tell me of them," Keren said, when the moment had passed. "I love tales of elves."

And so he told her the tale of Beren and Luthien, and she watched his face come alive in the water as he did. It was a wondrous story, which Keren would carry with her the rest of her life – how Luthien's proud father set Beren an impossible task, to steal a Silmaril, one of the great jewels of the elves of old, from the crown of the evil Morgoth. Only then would he allow Beren, a mortal, to marry his daughter.

"For she was the most beautiful of all the children of Iluvatar." Legolas's voice carried through the cavern. "In your tongue you would say: 'her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and loveliness, and in her face was a shining light.'"

Keren shivered a little. Clear waters were what she beheld now, and within them her face was shining white, and her hair was black, and the lights like stars glimmered above her. Her eyes looked grey. She felt uneasy, and flicked a finger down into the water to make ripples, and as the water gently moved she was herself again. Legolas must have seen her reflection as she had, though he spoke easily.

"Do not fear tricks of the light, for often they tell us much," he said. "Though of course they are nothing at all, and it is our minds that are the would-be soothsayers."

He went on with the tale – how Beren was imprisoned in Morgoth's lair, and Luthien herself came to his rescue. Together they escaped with the Silmaril, but Beren was mortally wounded.

"So broken hearted was Luthien that she gave up her life, and her fea fled to the halls of Mandos," Legolas went on. "She moved him with her pleading, so he sent both of their spirits back to Middle Earth to be born again, something that had never, and has not since, been heard of, for mortals' souls are not bound to the earth. His respect for them must have been great, to allow Beren to be reincarnated, as elves often are. So they lived in love once more, but Mandos's condition was that this time they must both die as Humans, and when old age took them their spirits passed out of the world together."

Keren was silent for a time, her head filled with the story. She had not known before that elves reincarnated.

"Have you been… sent back, do you think?" she wondered.

"I know not," Legolas replied. "Does one carry memories from one life to the next? I have none."

Both deciding it was too large a topic for the small amount of torchlight they had left, they chose to spend the remaining time sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Soon the torch was burning very low, and Legolas said they should leave. Keren agreed, reluctantly. Together they stood and turned from the cavern of stars.

Unseen by them, the crystals winked and blinked behind them, as if in excited discussion. Once the chamber was empty of the elf and human's voices and quiet breathing, the moonlight was swiftly hidden by clouds, as if the scene had ended and the light the crystals had so helpfully provided for the strange pair could now be extinguished.

Through the rocky halls the couple that had so excited the star spirits went, Keren saying a silent goodbye to each cavern they crossed, for she highly doubted she would see them again. Faster than she would have wished, they emerged into the fresh air of a summer night, and began a slow walk back to the Great Hall, where all seemed quiet.

"Goodnight, Keren," Legolas whispered, before they drew too near to the others to be overheard.

"Goodnight. Thank you for an evening I shall never forget."

"Tomorrow we leave for Isengard," Legolas found himself saying. "It is a journey of only two days."

Keren was puzzled for a moment, then realised what the elf was saying. Once they reached Isengard, they were to part. Two days. All that was left to them.

"I will miss you, Legolas," was all she could say.

"And I you. But we shall part with no sadness, for your life must be full of joy now. That is the path you have chosen."

"You will say goodbye, you will not just leave?" Keren was gripped by a sudden, inexplicable fear.

"We shall have a proper farewell, I promise thee," Legolas said, quickly brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Sleep well."

Then they parted, and went to their beds.


	20. Chapter 2 - Many Partings

**Author note: Finally I've published this chapter! I've really struggled with it as it's just been so sad to write. I promise things perk up again! My main delay however is that I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED ALL MY NOTES, OVER A YEAR'S WORTH, INCLUDING MY ENTIRE TIMELINE AND PLOT SUMMARY FOR THE WHOLE TRILOGY, so I've had to start doing all that from scratch too. Ermahgerd. It was so frustrating I CAN'T TELL YOU.**

 **Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter, including lots of new readers. I'm stoked people are still finding this and enjoying it :)**

 **The list is now getting too long to thank every single person who follows or favs, but THANK YOU SO MUCH. It makes me so happy to see all your names next to the title of something I dared to publish over a year ago and that has grown so much. x**

 **A fair bit of Tolkien's writing in this one, so I will say again that only my original characters, and everything they say or do that has not previously been written elsewhere, is mine. Obvs.**

* * *

 **Book Two, Chapter Two - Many Partings**

Three days gentle riding had brought the group to Isengard, slower than planned, for folk were inclined to linger – the journey had been pleasant in the warm weather, and only Keren and Legolas were to be found looking solemn, for the others had many more days together on the road. They had ridden together on Arod, with no one questioning, and Keren wondered just how many people knew of their friendship, for it could not be easily hidden now.

She was sat basking in the sun, a juicy apple in one hand and her water-skin in the other, looking down on fruit trees and fine green lawns, leading down to a clear lake in the centre of the valley. From there she could see the giant tower of Orthanc reflected in the still surface of the water.

Very little she knew of this place, and less still of its new inhabitants. She had been told to expect a people that her mind would tell her were not real.

She and the others had been sat under the trees marking the entrance to Isengard for what had felt a long while, and it was clear from the reaction of a lot of the group that they were not expecting what they saw. Merry and Pippin had told her of their time at Isengard, and Legolas had sat quietly with a smile, as he viewed the wondrous changes the Ents had brought to the valley. The trees and grass were a new addition – for many years it had been the wizard Saruman's domain, when all was turned to fire and smoke, whereas before there had been beautiful gardens, perhaps finer even than the ones created now.

Keren had asked what exactly Ents were, and how they could build and plant so quickly, but neither of the hobbits had seemed able to answer her. She was not to be left wondering for long however.

A strange booming noise began, and heavy thuds that made the ground beneath them shake a little. Keren stared in wonder at the sight of two figures appearing from between the trees walking towards her, and then gasped aloud when she realised the _hoom-hom_ sound was coming from one of them.

"Are they… trees?" she whispered to Pippin. "Walking, talking trees?"

But Merry and Pippin had gone, and were running towards the trees with great shouts of joy.

"To call them trees is to do them a disservice," came Legolas's reply instead. "They are shepherds of the forest. They are the oldest beings in the land, and some of the rarest. And Fangorn, why he has a whole forest named for him. It is there I travel to when we leave this place."

Without wishing to be reminded of their now imminent separation, Keren distracted herself with studying the ents as they walked slowly closer to the group of travellers, Merry and Pippin now trotting along at their heels. With every step, roots instead of toes sunk into the ground, and Keren could hear great creaking sounds as their arms like giant branches swayed with their strides.

They greeted the group, although she noticed they did not once glance in her direction, for none of the great deeds that they were reeling off in praise were anything to do with her. They bent low to converse quietly with Mithrandir and the King, and Keren strained her ears to hear but could only discern a low rumbling.

"The tall, grey one is Bregalad, and the other Fangorn himself. Quickbeam and Treebeard in your tongue," Legolas explained.

The Ents had a strange way of speaking, almost like a pair of bellows blowing in and out, with strange humming and booming noises dotted amongst both unfamiliar and recognisable words. Keren did not follow the hushed conversation. After a time Quickbeam handed a giant set of keys to the King, and Keren wondered what they were for. Treebeard straightened himself up with a creak and a groan, and suddenly his voice grew loud and jovial.

"But I am forgetting my manners! Will you stay here and rest a while? And maybe there are some that would be pleased to pass through Fangorn Forest and so shorten their road home?"

The bark on his face bent into shapes that looked like a smile and a crinkling around the eyes as he addressed Celeborn and Galadriel. Keren's heart rose as she thought of getting to travel beside Legolas for a while longer, but her hopes were quickly dashed by the Lord Celeborn's answer.

"Nay, Eldest. We travel west for a time, with our friends old and new."

With this sentence at last Treebeard's eyes slid to Keren, and she felt unnerved looking into two empty black hollows, which still seemed to judge her. She held his gaze, as one would a wild animal that needed reassurance that their potential foe could be trusted, and felt a sense of immense age and wisdom, more than any that she already met, except perhaps the Lady Galadriel.

 _But at least her eyes have pupils_ , Keren thought, and suppressed a shudder – she felt that this Treebeard was not a person to offend.

"I beg permission to travel through your lands, Eldest." Legolas's voice behind her made her jump out of her staring match. "I have promised a journey with my friend, Gimli, and the common route to our homes is through Fangorn Forest. I wish for him to see the greatness and beauty of that realm, for little does he know of root and leaf."

Treebeard _hoom-ha'd_ with amusement.

"You have my leave, Greenleaf," he replied. "And you may wander wherever you wish. I know there are many friends waiting for you who will be glad of your company again."

Legolas bowed reverently, a hand to his breast, then straightened up with a grin.

"Come Gimli!" he cried. "Now with Fangorn's leave I will visit the deep places of the Entwood and see such trees as are nowhere else to be found in Middle-earth. You shall come with me and keep your word; and thus we will journey on together to our own lands in Mirkwood and beyond."

Gimli grunted an agreement, and Legolas sprang forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. Keren was suddenly alone, and the moment was upon her. The next parting she would have to make. And yet she found she could not speak, could not even whisper to Legolas to call him back, and before she could get any words out suddenly Elessar was speaking.

"Here then at last comes the ending of the Fellowship of the Ring. Yet I hope that ere long you will return to my land with the help that you promised."

"We will come if our own lords allow it," Gimli replied quickly, and Legolas looked anxious. Keren immediately knew it was because he was unsure that his father _would_ allow it.

Gimli turned to the hobbits, who suddenly looked stricken.

"Well, farewell, my hobbits!" he said, with the appearance of one who was desperately trying to smile for the other's sake, lest all burst into tears. "You should come safe to your own houses now, and I shall not be kept awake for fear of your peril. We will send word when we may, and some of us may yet meet at times; but I fear that we shall not all be gathered together ever again."

His voice quavered at the end, and Keren felt a lump rise in her throat at the sight of the eight companions grouped together, their original number already cut by one through a far more final goodbye. A vision of Boromir wandered through her mind's eye, and she felt a grief for the young man she had once seen sparring with at the top of the citadel, who by rights should also have been here. But then she found her mind seeking Faramir within that memory and ruthlessly shrugged it away.

She walked away a little to give them some privacy in their final moments together, and soon the group had split. Both Gimli and Legolas bowed to the elves of Lothlorien, then turned together towards Keren.

Gimli awkwardly stood to one side as Legolas stood before her, offering her his hand.

"Will you help me with Arod?" he asked quietly.

Keren, knowing that he needed no help, took his hand and allowed herself to be led to where the horses had been tethered. The group were far enough away for them to be out of earshot, and Keren could see Treebeard beginning his farewells, bowing deeply to the elves.

Legolas checked Arod's saddle and reins, and bent to inspect his hooves. Keren gently patted the horses' neck and stroked his nose, and he whinnied gently.

"I knew you would make friends in the end," Legolas said gently.

Keren smiled through the tears that had started in her eyes.

"I am learning that it is only when we say goodbye I realise how good my friends have been to me," she said, unable to meet his eye. "How well they have carried me."

He did not speak, but took her hand.

"I do not think I could have seen…everything through, had it not been for you guiding me through it," she went on. "And you did it so well I was not even aware that almost everything I did was because of you, and your words. You saved me."

"They were just words, and in choosing to listen to them you believe you were saved. But from what? You need not have listened, and then you would simply have gone down another path, and who is to say what that would have brought."

"Somehow I don't think I would have ended up here." Keren smiled wryly, which he returned.

A silence grew between them, and she looked down, eyelashes wet.

"How can I thank you for all you did, and said?" she whispered, still looking at his feet.

"You must not think that we will not meet again," he said eventually. "I will return to Minas Tirith, with or without my father's blessing."

"But what if I am not there?" she said, finally meeting his gaze. "What if…"

She could not finish.

"How long you stay with the elves is down to you. You will be safe in Lothlorien, and you may find you wish to remain. Or you may wish to go home. Either way, I will find you, for both places are dear to me, and my feet will miss those paths before long."

"But what is a short time to you may be centuries for me, and I will be gone, and we shall never meet again."

At this her tears spilled over, and he hugged her to him tightly.

"Do you think I would forget you, and let you live your whole life without more of my confusing advice?" he said with a smile. She felt his voice resonating in his chest as she learnt her forehead against him, and she found she could not keep a smile from her own face. "Nay, Keren, we will see each other again before either of our time here is at an end. This is not the last time I shall see your face, and most glad I am of that."

"But how can you be so sure?" she whispered, drawing back to look into his face, which despite his words nevertheless looked strained.

"Because I trust myself to follow my own advice – to not let you go now that I have found you."

And with that he kissed her brow, and wiped away the tears that were falling down her cheeks.

Behind his shoulder she could see Gimli approaching, and Legolas broke apart from her to help his friend into the saddle, before mounting Arod himself.

"Cuio vê, Keren," he said, the reins in his hands, and she recognised the strange words he had said to her once before, except this time he had a strange smile that appeared as if he was struggling to hide it. "No gelin idh raid lîn."

"Wait, what does that mean?" she asked desperately this time.

"I have a feeling you will soon learn," he said, with a strange smile.

Then before she could register what was happening he had turned Arod around and galloped off, and she was left with nothing but the settling dust.

* * *

The whole group departed from Isengard within a matter of minutes after her parting with the elf, and soon they were on the road again. No one spoke to her as they travelled, and she was trying to process the sudden elf-shaped hole that had been left.

It was but a matter of hours until their next stop, when Elessar made his farewells and travelled south once more. Again Keren kept her distance from the group as they spent their final moments together in fellowship, and instead she stood with the elves, solemnly watching from afar as Elessar knelt before the hobbits and hugged each in turn.

Standing, he walked over to the elves, and bid a fond farewell to Celeborn and Galadriel. The Lady was merry, but Celeborn's parting words to the King puzzled Keren.

"May your doom be other than mine, and your treasure remain with you to the end!" he said.

Keren felt that Celeborn surely had all he wanted, and his immortality must mean that he would inevitably have it until the end of his life.

 _But I know very little of elves_ , she realised, _despite having the friendship of one of the best._

Still sore from their hasty parting only a few hours since, she turned her mind from Legolas and curtsied low to Elessar as he gave his final farewells.

The sun was setting as he rode away with his best knights around him, and when he reached the peak of the near horizon he turned in his saddle. He raised his hand aloft and held something within it – it was the green stone that Keren had seen him wearing on his breast the first day she had seen him, at Faramir's bedside within the Houses. She recognised it thanks to the powerful bright glow that now emitted from his palm, the glow that Beregond had not been able to see, but she had beheld in wonder. She wondered if all here could see it too. Judging by the sadness present in the hobbits faces, and the lack of awe, she guessed not.

It was only as she bedded down for the night that she wondered why she saw something that only elves and wizards could see. But then as she shut her eyes the thought leapt from her mind, for she felt a familiar wrench begin somewhere inside her – she could never tell if it was in her heart or her stomach – and immediately she began to feel frustrated for surely, surely she could not still be missing Faramir. The old feeling of loss and pain had struck her where it always did. And yet…

Faramir was still there, but beside him there was a new pain now, a pain less sharp and biting. This pain was heavy and sad.

She rolled onto her back to try and alleviate it, and her eyes opened upon a blanket of stars in the black sky, twinkling down at her, making her pain seem suddenly very small and all-encompassing at the same time.

"Goodnight, Legolas," she whispered. "Find me again, my friend."

* * *

For six days they travelled west and north, the land becoming wilder and the air beginning to cool. Keren had entirely abandoned all hope of working out how far they had come, how many days they had been travelling, or even where they were. Most seemed to know the paths well, although her and the three hobbits less inclined to study maps often shrugged at each other when a place name was announced, for it meant nothing to them, nor could they use it to distinguish where on Middle-earth they were.

The Misty Mountains were a constant presence to their right as they journeyed north, but they saw no people on the road or in the surrounding lands, until one day they passed two beggars who were hobbling slowly along at the edge of the dusty track. Keren felt pity at their ragged appearance, and wondered where they were going and where they had come from. But as she drew closer a feeling of deep unease took hold, and she found herself slowing her horse and drawing towards the back of the group. She knew not why she suddenly felt so wary, but as she slowly went past them she could see they were not unknown to several of the group, and she felt it wise to trust her instincts, for the older beggar's manners seemed course and cruel.

She heard but one thing from his lips as she passed, and that was enough.

"…bear you back across so wide a sea? It will be a grey ship, and full of ghosts."

She knew he meant the elves passing over the sea into the West, and she cringed at the mean mockery in his voice, not lingering to hear the reply from his audience of Mithrandir and the Lord and Lady. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible, and all along that long stretch of road she was fearful to look back in case he was catching up with them.

That night she slept fitfully, the beggar with his hooked nose and glaring eyes, that fortunately had never rested on her, in her mind, limping towards her down the road.

In the morning she felt a little better, for the countryside was now lush and green. The sun shone, and there was no sign of any ominous figure clad in dirty white robes. On reflection Keren realised what had caused a large part of her discomfort – the man had reminded her of Mithrandir. She looked over at the familiar site of the wizard in his white robes atop his white horse. The nose was large but not hooked, and the face was not scowling but smiling, eyes closed, head back, soaking in the sun's rays.

Suddenly he opened his eyes and turned his head to look straight at her, unblinking. She had the uneasy sense he had known she was staring before. He beckoned her over with a tilt of his head, and she, uncertain, went to his side, their horses clopping along at a steady walk.

"You are wondering who our scowling friends were?" he said by means of an introduction.

She knew not what to say in reply; she barely knew how to address him.

"The younger is of no concern to you, for he has chosen to be a nobody. The elder is of little concern to you, or indeed to anyone now," Mithrandir said, almost sadly. "And yet the greatest of us he once was, in his day."

He looked sideways at Keren and chuckled at her shocked face.

"Oh, yes, he is a wizard. Was. Well. It's complicated."

Keren blinked.

"I suppose you could say that he was once…me," Mithrandir said inexplicably.

When Keren still did not speak – for what was there to say? – the wizard went on.

"Mithrandir you call me, Grey Pilgrim," he said. "But you are out of date, as I believe you have already been told. Gandalf the Grey was my name to others, but they would also be wrong. Now I am Gandalf the White. And when I was reborn as such, I did not realise (for such things were unprecedented) that there was not enough room in Middle-earth for _two_ white wizards. So it seems that Saruman's days as the White are over, for already he is turning to brown and grey, as you saw. An old shadow of what he once was."

He said this all matter-of-factly, as if reciting Keren a well-known but dull story. She, however, was most confused.

Reborn as such? Did wizards, like elves, have the gift of reincarnation? She was afraid to ask, for this did not seem like a two-sided conversation. He may have belatedly realised this, for suddenly he smiled.

"But Mithrandir you first called me, and, if it will be of some comfort, Mithrandir I may remain to you. Although soon the time will come for our parting, and my name in any guise will be but a memory to you."

Keren looked solemnly back at him, wondering if he even remembered her name.

"Put Saruman out of your mind, for evil is passing from this land, and his time will soon come. But I'm sure," he went on, "that you will have plenty to think of which means that you will never give him a moment's thought."

He chuckled, and clicked to Shadowfax to walk on, leaving Keren alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Several days more of gentle riding took them past rippling streams and empty fields, until they reached a ford crossing a larger river. Mithrandir shouted that they had passed into the realm of Eregion, and the hobbits' faces brightened, for that was a name they knew.

"We must be getting near to Moria," Sam said, with a hint of foreboding.

"Correct, Master Gamgee," said Mithrandir. "But you will be pleased to hear our road does not go beneath ground this time. We reach Rivendell by roads once closed to us, and if that is not a sign that we succeeded in our quest for peace, I don't know what is."

The next morning they awoke atop a hill to a fine mist in the valley below them. Far in the distance lay the Misty Mountains, and all bar Keren were quick to recognise the three largest peaks of Caradhras, Celebdil and Fanuidhol.

The group was a quiet one that morning, but the hobbits were especially subdued.

"What's the matter, Pip?" Keren wondered as she saw the hobbit looking out across to Caradhras.

"Well, it's a funny feeling," he said after a little while, still staring ahead. "Under that mountain, Gandalf died. And we grieved. And yet… here he is, sat smoking a pipe with Frodo like before. Who, by all accounts, if you please, should have died too."

He looked over at her and shrugged.

"Sometimes I feel like I haven't got a grasp on the world at all," he said. "At times like this I feel very confused about the whole thing. Life. Death. All of it. And what it's for, I suppose."

Keren had no answer other than what she had been thinking herself over the past few weeks.

"Well, at least we have friends to help us muddle our way through it," she said.

At this she was surprised to see tears form in Pippin's eyes.

"Pip?"

He sniffed, and shrugged again.

"I'll miss you," was all he said.

She looked at him steadily, and she knew with certainty that this was one friend she most definitely would not see again once they parted.

"And I you."

* * *

A week passed atop the hill, for it became apparent that all wished to delay the inevitable parting. The elves had travelled well out of their way with Mithrandir and the hobbits, for they had held long counsel with the wizard on their journey. But now all their important talk was done, and there was no reason for them to prolong their journey any further. They must turn east and return to their home beyond the mountains, Keren with them.

Each night as Keren lay down to sleep near to the hobbits, she looked over at the elves and the wizard sat around the fire. Never did they speak, but instead sat smiling and sharing glances just as if they were. Trying not to think too hard about that, Keren would always fall asleep slowly, memories flying through her head of all that she had been through, and was still happening, and now, rising up faster and faster, the dread at saying goodbye to Merry and Pippin.

The seventh day had not dawned fully when Keren awoke, but she knew, from the bustle that awoke her, that the day of departure had arrived. All who had risen were tending to their horses or checking over their packs. Keren jumped up, fearing a hasty departure and a missed farewell with the hobbits, and went to see to Leofric, who she was almost on speaking terms with now. He chomped lazily at the grass as she inspected his hooves and tightened the saddle, things Legolas had taught her how to do. Leofric had carried her well for many leagues, despite not being her horse in the first place, despite being the first horse she had ever ridden alone, despite them not immediately seeing eye to eye. She was still far from a natural horsewoman, but she no longer bounced about like a sack of potatoes, and he almost always followed her commands now. He seemed happy and ready for another long march.

The sun still had not yet fully risen when all had been made ready. The hobbits and Mithrandir parted solemnly from the elves, who mounted their horses with a fluidity that was definitely not human, in Keren's opinion. No tears were shed, for in truth the hobbits were all a little afraid of the people of Lorien. And now Keren was to go with them. They seemed solemn and serious, even sad, and she wondered if time would pass horrendously slowly with them as they travelled on.

The Lady Galadriel's eyes met Keren's, and she could see the unspoken message in them before the Lady turned her horse and led the slow procession off down the hill. Keren had a few minutes, but not too long or she would lose the elves, and therefore her way.

She hurried over to the hobbits, who stood in a semi-circle before her, Pippin already crying.

She could not think of anything to say, and so she knelt before them and enveloped Merry and Pippin in a hug, sobbing. Frodo and Sam, always a little distant after their time in Mordor, looked on with sadness for their friends.

"Please don't go," Pippin said in her ear. "Come with us."

"You'd be welcome in the Shire." Keren heard Sam's voice from over her shoulder.

"We'd be honoured to show you our home," came Frodo's quiet voice. "If you wish. But I feel it is right that you leave us here, somehow."

Keren drew back a little.

"Frodo is right, Pip," she said, sniffing. "I have to go with them. I have to find out who I am. And maybe, once I've dealt with that small matter, I can come and visit," she said with a little laugh through her tears.

They all smiled sadly in response, for this meeting had an air of finality hanging over it that all could feel. They had had great fun, great adventures together, but now their time was done. Keren's life was moving away from theirs.

"Oh, I'll miss you," she said in reply to the silence.

Merry began to cry, for he had greatly loved Palen – parting from her had been hard, and now saying goodbye to her sister was parting with the final link to her.

Pippin wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Goodbye, Keren," he said. "Take such good care of yourself. And I hope we meet again, somewhere."

"Thank you for _everything_ , Pip," she replied, tears streaming down her face. "I could not have wished for a better friend. I wish we had had years together. I wish a lot of things. I wish… I wish you happiness. All of you."

She looked around at this, her strange and unexpected group of friends. Half a year ago she had not known what a hobbit was, and now she would find it hard to imagine her life without them in it.

A horn sounded from the valley below.

"I had better go," she said sadly, for the last of the elves were leaving the hilltop. "Farewell, my hobbits. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Thank you for what?" came Pippin's reply.

"Thank you for bringing laughter to me when I thought I could not even smile," she said.

* * *

The moon had risen, and she had been riding with the elves a full day. She was at the back of the group, and no one was speaking to her, so she was left alone with her thoughts – thoughts of all the partings she had made over the past couple of months, from everyone and everything that was safe and familiar, who had had a part to play in leading her to where she was now, on a narrow path of rock, surrounded by shimmering silent figures out of legend.

The Houses. Ioreth. The Warden.

The city. Palen. Her father. Beregond.

Pippin. The hobbits. Mithrandir.

Faramir.

Legolas.

She really was on her own now.

For the first time in weeks she took her crystal from its pouch, where it had been hanging from her waist all through her travels, a silent companion.

 _Now I need you, now it's your time_ , she thought. _You are all I have left_.

It glowed silently in her palm, and gentle, haunting music came to her ears.

 _Oh, Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

 _Silivren penna míriel_

 _O menel aglar elenath!_

The elves had begun to sing. Sudden weariness took her, and she knew no more.

* * *

 **Author note: Ok I sobbed like a baby. I love Pippin. I love what he brought to Keren (and to me). Bye Pip x**


	21. Chapter 3 - The other Keren

**Author note: Quite a short chapter this time. It was either going to be about 9000 words or short and sweet. I'm saving the rest!**

 **Thank you and hi all new follows and favs. Thank you Guest, InariKiri, Rogue's Queen, d'elfe, WickedGreene13, Absinthe Verte, magicbustrip and jazellsparrow for your reviews. They are all so kind, and it's so great to see people loving Keren and the plot. Because believe me I'm always slightly unsure of both!**

 **This chapter takes us well and truly into what I call 'phase 2' of the story. I was so excited to write it, not least because I got to be using Elvish again. I have to say to anyone who writes fanfic and wants to accurately, the website RealElvish has once again been amazing - comprehensive dictionaries for the different dialects, essays on elven culture, in fact everything you may need to stick to canon, if such things are important to you. I have no idea who is responsible for it, but this is me saying if you're a lover of all things elf, then CHECK. IT. OUT.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three - The Other Keren**

Keren was in the middle of a thick swirling grey mist, through which she could see and hear nothing, not even her breath. She decided it was not an entirely unpleasant situation, and hovered about patiently, for she felt as though she had no limbs, no body. If this was what travelling with elves was like she could get used to it, for she had no worries, no fears, and she was not hungry – a rarity on this long journey. She did think it was all a little strange, for she was sure she had possessed a body up until now, but she did not question this new state of being.

There was still the issue of Legolas though, she thought. Even in this rather unusual method of transport, she still missed him. She wondered if he was thinking of her. Memories flickered back and forth – of the kiss on her forehead when he parted from her, of when he took her hand in the caves, of him in the moonlight at their first meeting. She had a brief fleeting image of him by the oak tree at Cormallen, although something was not right about it, for she had not remembered him standing weeping with grief, as she saw now. How odd. Before she could get too confused about it a voice reached her through the mist.

"Keren! Kereeeeeen! Noooo! Please, no! Not my sister, she's with child, she's _with child!_ " A man's voice was shouting close at hand, from just above her. "Please, I beg you, show mercy, show mer – ah – "

The voice was cut off by a small, surprised exhalation, and then a thump as a body hit the ground. Sounds of close fighting, men yelling, women screaming, and awful inhuman cries and grunting noises were all around her. She could smell blood. Her blood. She could feel it warm between her legs and behind her head. Now she had a body.

 _The baby, the baby,_ was all she could think. _They've killed the baby._

She lay still, and opened her eyes a crack, fearful of what she would see. She must have been knocked out, but the fighting had continued around her.

Above her, her father was defending both her and himself from a huge orc, for so she had learned these creatures were called. They had been warned before the journey to beware, particularly in remote areas such as this, but, brave or foolhardy, they had taken this path.

Her head swimming, she turned her head and a horrendous sight met her eyes. Her mother was spread-eagled on the ground, eyes glaring, blood running from a massive slice into her neck. She was looking into Keren's eyes, and she was dead. Above her mother, on a rocky ledge, her brother's body lay slumped, and she turned her head to avoid the sight of an orc beginning to tear at his flesh.

The sight the other side of the gorge was perhaps worse – her younger sister, only thirteen years old, lay curled up in a ball, eyes shut as if she was asleep, but Keren could tell from her furrowed brow and shaking hands that she had retreated in fear and acceptance of death. Looming over her was a smaller orc, a curved blade in his hand. Keren tried to stand, to rush to protect her sister, but her legs seemed to have stopped working.

"No, please, no," she managed to say, but she knew that even if she was heard she would be ignored.

Her sister met death with silence. The blade cut down into her heart, which caused her eyes to flare open in surprise and her blood to spurt several feet towards Keren. She slipped down the wall of rock and lay still. Keren could not watch as the orc ripped the blade from Inweth's chest, turning instead to see her father still battling with the largest orc. He was not a fighter, and Keren knew it was hopeless.

The blood was still dripping from her legs, and she knew she was going to die. She was unable to move to help her father, although the pain in her head seemed to be lessening, and her vision was perhaps not as blurry as before. But still, it was a matter of time.

Rather than watch her father lose his life, she closed her eyes and tried to picture home, tried to remove herself from this, her final ghastly moments of life. The mill, the Prancing Pony, the market, their cottage. _Home_. But nothing would come, all was blood and death. She heard her father scream in pain, and braced herself, for she knew that now, with no one to protect her and she unable to move, she was the next and last to die.

She gritted her teeth and tried to stop shaking, tried to find peace.

A roar filled the air, then another, then two heavy thumps. There was shouting from the orcs, who had gathered around her, but it seemed subdued compared to before. They were still growling and snuffing, but then she could clearly hear their heavy tread running from where she lay.

"Dago in yrch! Dago din!"

A strange voice cried, from far above her. She opened her eyes in surprise.

Her father was slumped against the rocky wall near to her sister, not dead, but blood was gushing out of his side.

"Ti hern, berio din, nesto din!" The commanding voice again. Arrows were flying, and the two orcs that were nearest her were dead, pierced in the head and heart. The aim had been accurate and deadly.

Who was helping them, and were they friend or foe? Perhaps they were only killing the orcs in order to rob Keren and her father more easily. Behind this thought was the dim awareness that her mother, brother and sister were dead, lying murdered a few feet from her.

Running footsteps were drawing near, light and quick, and suddenly hands were at her side and head. Gentle hands – it felt as though they were searching for injury rather than money. She opened her eyes, and they met large grey ones looking concernedly back. She had never seen such a person before, with long golden hair over his shoulders, and pointed ears.

"Im Orophin estannen, tolen dhe nathad," he said gently to her.

She watched as his eyes moved to look at her father and widened. The elf, for that is what she judged the strange man to be, ran to his side. She saw him lay her father down and speak to him gently, then lay a hand on his brow and whisper something. She knew her father had died.

She was alone, all her family gone in minutes.

The shouts and roars had stopped, and all was silent, except for the sound of her ragged breathing. The pain in her head was very faint now, and she could feel life coming back into her legs, but still there was that trickling from between them. She knew not how she could be injured there, for no orc had come near her other than to hit her hard over the head, which had caused her to black out.

Suddenly a pain all around her back and belly caused her to cry out, and she knew what was happening. It was not blood between her legs.

Her baby was wanting to be born. She had gone into labour, early.

At her cry the elf had run over, leaving her father's body still and silent, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Help me, help," she said under her breath, panicky, still not truly registering what had happened and what was going to have to happen. "The baby, my baby is coming."

The elf's brow creased as he tried to understand what she had said, but then as she held her large belly he realised what was happening and jumped to his feet.

"Haldir! Boe angwen mened!" he cried to someone she could not see.

"Man i theled?" A reply came from afar. "Ti gwand. Yrch a adan."

"Althand, tolo hi, hortho!"

She heard more running footsteps, and two more elves appeared, both also tall with long, fair hair.

"Alae," the first elf said, and the other two stared at where he pointed to her belly. She met their eyes with fear, for how could three male elves help her now? She needed a midwife, and a bed – a safe, warm bed.

 _But you should have thought of that before you lay with an idiot a month before you were due to set out._

She had no one but herself to blame for having to give birth on the side of the road after keeping her pregnancy secret for as long as she could, but she had thought her mother and sister would have been there to help when the time came. Grief hit her – sudden, painful grief.

"Haldir… Annunaid…Penin inc." The first elf looked to one of the others and spread his hands. She watched through her tears, as the other elf nodded and crouched beside her.

"My name is Haldir. These are my brothers, Orophin and Rumil. We are marchwardens of Lothlorien. You are close to our borders. We must get you to safety, and to a place where your babe may be born."

Without wondering how he could speak her language, she allowed herself to be taken into his arms and carried away from the scene of destruction. She was silent as he ran, and was barely jostled despite his fast pace.

"How is your head?" he asked.

"Fine," she mumbled, for indeed that was no longer the problem. "Please, hurry."

Her body wracked with a spasm again, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

"I will take you to someone who can help, I promise you," he said, not seeming out of breath. "We will need to blindfold your eyes for a time, once across our borders. I am sorry, but – "

"Why, where are you taking me?" she asked fearfully, her heart still pounding.

"To Caras Galadhon, within Lothlorien our homeland, but our Lady does not permit – "

He stopped short as the girl grimaced again, her stomach contorting. Words failed him. He had never seen childbirth before, let alone in a human. Blindfolding her surely would not help matters. He looked down at the girls' face, pale and covered with sweat. He decided that he would face the consequences of allowing her to have sight of Lorien, for the Lady would surely understand. Assessing her worriedly, a small part of him felt that she would not last to see much of their land anyway, for she seemed so small and weak to be giving birth.

He knew not where they were travelling from or to, but taking the pass through the mountains had been a grave mistake, and now she was suffering for it. The journey had clearly left her malnourished and exhausted, for there were dark rings under her eyes, her hair was dull and hanging limply, and her cheekbones were sharp in her thin face. What had led a pregnant human girl so close to their lands he could not imagine. When the contraction had passed, her eyes cleared of pain and he took the chance to ask her.

"Where have you come from?" he said shortly. "What brings you here?"

"Bree, in the north," she said breathlessly. "My father, he is from a long line of merchants. We are – we are travelling far south to Minas… Minas Tirith. We have cousins there, but so distant they may not know us. My ancestors had sailed north from there many years ago, but now… my father is hungry for more gold that only the great men of the South have, and since my mother cannot sail, we are going by road."

Haldir felt sadness for the girl, as she kept referring to her family as if they were all still alive. The truth would fully hit her later, he knew, if she survived.

"And what is your name?" he wondered.

"Keren," she said. "Daughter of Padion."

* * *

Keren, daughter of Maleron, awoke with a start. It took a while for her to realise where she was, asleep on the back of someone else's horse, strong arms around her middle to stop her falling off. She turned to see a female elf sitting behind her, looking concerned.

"Is all well?" the elf asked her in a low, whispering voice. She looked much like Galadriel, with long, almost white hair and piercing grey eyes.

Keren was shaking. The dream had been so real. She had seen, felt, smelt everything as if it had truly happened to her. When she looked down at her stomach she was relieved to see it was flat. A girl with the same name as her, who had travelled from Bree, who was pregnant…

 _It cannot be_ , Keren thought stubbornly. _You are just exhausted and having strange dreams._

But she remembered what had happened before the dream. Her crystal, the elves song, and her inability to recall anything after that. The crystal was still clenched in her hand. She looked around properly, wanting to be brought back to reality.

Either side of her were tall faces of grey rock, reaching up to a clear blue sky that seemed higher up than usual. The ground was rough and stony, and a chill wind blew between the two cliff faces.

 _Mountain pass_ , Keren thought numbly. _This is the same mountain pass._

She shivered violently, for she was fairly convinced they had just passed the exact spot where she had seen an unfamiliar young girl, who in the dream had been her sister, slide down the stone wall of the cliff, an orc's curved blade in her heart.

 _Do not tell_ , came the thought. _Do not tell them._

"All is well," she heard herself say, her eyes fixed to the spot. "The cold wind woke me."

She did not turn to see the elf's no doubt dubious expression.

"It is not far now," the calm female voice just behind her said. "Two day's gentle journeying and we shall be within the borders of our home."

 _Not my home_ , Keren thought, never feeling so out of sorts and unprotected. _Not mine._

"At the end of this pass we come to Nanduhirion, and from there we follow the Celebrant to the Golden Wood."

Keren did not know how to acknowledge these words, for the place names meant nothing to her. All she could think of was the girl and her baby. How would she have survived a journey of two days?

"How long have we been travelling since we left the hobbits and Mithrandir?" she asked instead. "It cannot be more than two days."

"We have been on the road almost two weeks," was the reply. "You have been… asleep."

Keren, too tired and too shaken to ask more questions, took this as an acceptable answer, sure that she would dwell on it later.

"You might want to put that crystal away now," said the elf.

* * *

In comparison to her apparently lost twelve days, the last two went by incredibly slowly. The elves lingered in the dale behind the mountains for hours. Impressive as it was, Keren had a burning desire, now she had shaken the dream off her shoulders, to get some answers to her many questions about her unconscious mode of transport. She was pleased to be back on Leofric and smiled at the thought of what Legolas would have to say about that. The elf who had seemingly sat behind her whilst she was in her dream-like state had not shared her name, and turned out to have been the antithesis of chatty.

Once they finally decided to move on, they followed the course of a small river of clear, fast-flowing water that led south from the great silent lake in the middle of the valley. They kept close to the busy, noisy little stream for another full day, until finally Keren saw ahead green plains, and in the distance tall trees with dark green leaves atop trunks of silver-grey wood. The sun shone on them and the land beneath them appeared golden and warm. She felt a pull in her heart. She _wanted_ to be there.

As the group of travellers grew nearer they began raising their arms in greeting. Keren squinted, and thought she could just make out three tiny figures in the distance beneath the boughs of the outermost trees. Sure enough, they became clearer as she rode closer, until Keren thought she was looking at three Legolas's.

She blinked, and saw that no, although there were similarities in the height and the long, fair hair, they were all facially very different from her friend. And yet there was a likeness between the three of them – the same large eyes, full lips and square jaws. She held her breath, for she had seen those faces before.

"Dhe suilannon, Brannon vuin, Brennil vuin", the one in the centre of the three said.

"Suil, Haldir," Galadriel said. "Rumil, Orophin." She nodded at each in turn, who bowed, a hand to their breast.

Keren was just behind the lady, and hoped her releasing a shocked breath was not audible. It was them, the three elves who had saved her. No, not her. Saved the other Keren.

Looking gingerly over Galadriel's shoulder, she could see it appeared they were having similar thoughts, for their faces were for a short time fearful, then wondering.

Galadriel looked behind her, then smiled.

"You have seen our new guest," she said switching to Keren's language. Keren watched as the elf called Haldir quickly translated for the others, not taking his eyes off her, and she could only assume that Westron was being spoken for her benefit alone.

"This is Keren," Galadriel went on. "She has come here to learn. Much of what she shall learn, she shall learn from you. I leave her with you for a time – tell her all you know, and treat her kindly for she is, like her mother and grandmother, welcome here."

All three's eyes had widened at the sound of her name, and the two who did not speak Westron began muttering and gesticulating wildly to each other.

"A!" cried the third, a stern frown on his face for each of them. "Penig channas? Daro."

The other two stopped talking immediately, faces comedically frozen, and Keren just had the distinct impression the middle one had told them in no uncertain terms to stop panicking like idiots.

"Apologies, my lady," Haldir bowed low. "The sight of our guest has unsettled us. We were not expecting… She is so like…"

Galadriel only smiled, then her horse began a slow walk into the forest. Naturally all the other elves followed suit, most smiling quickly at the three very confused elves as they passed. None of them gave her a word of farewell, even the one she had shared a horse with. It appeared she was someone else's problem now.

The four of them waited, awkwardly studying each other, Keren still in the saddle. The one called Orophin eventually came to his senses and sprang to Leofric's side, offering a hand to Keren to help her dismount. He did not take his eyes off her face the whole time she moved, and released her hand quickly once she was on the ground, as if frightened to touch her too long.

"I remember you," Keren whispered, to which she received an inquisitive frown.

Haldir, after a pause, translated, in a voice that shook a little. Orophin drew back a little in fear, and Keren realised what she said had made no sense.

"I – I had a dream," she said, looking only at Haldir as she spoke, watching him translate. "On the way here, on the mountain pass. You, all of you, were in it. You saved me."

The three elves looked at each other, and it was clear they had not bargained on this.

Haldir, seeming to come to a decision, stepped forward.

"Welcome, Keren, daughter of Orwen," he said, replacing her father's well-worn name with that of her mother's, a name he could not possibly know. "We have much to tell you."

* * *

 **Author note: Eeeee! We made it to Lothlorien! When I started writing this story it felt soooo faaaar awaaay and now I'm here! *Waves at Haldir* In the next chapter he will answer a lot of your (and Keren's) questions...**


	22. Chapter 4 - Orwen

**Author note: Ready for more revelations?**

 **Thank you as always everyone who reviewed, and to all new followers and favs.**

 **Rachetg, Katia0203, Goddessofwarriorcats, Hawaiichick and WickedGreene13 the secrets keep coming in the next couple of chapters!**

 **Failisse2001 thank you for a really informative review. I am of course kicking myself that I missed that particular story, but if I clunked the ill-fated A+A into my story's world now it will not work, so I'm going to tap this one up to experience and say that each author creates their own version of a familiar world - and in my Arda... those guys didn't exist. Argh, that sounds awful after all my hard work researching! HOWEVER ok so Legs got that wrong (through no fault of his own, his mouth being controlled by my keyboard), BUT my human-elf friendship/romance/thing still has a new twist that I'm positive has not been in the legendarium. But that's a whole book away yet... I knew about the Arwen-Luthien thing, but I just felt I'd been rambling too long about B+L by then ha.**

 **Everything and everyone in this story that ain't JRR's is mine. x**

* * *

 **Chapter Four - Orwen**

"You know my mother's name," was all Keren could manage to say.

"I know her name, for I knew her. To us," – Haldir gestured to his brothers – "she was family. We were much grieved to learn of her death."

"Yes. Well. It was a long time ago now." Keren was not sure she wanted to discuss the death of her beloved mother with these strangers, but then she supposed that nine years were but mere blinks of time to an elf. And she was hungry for information, information that they clearly had.

"Please," she began. "I want to know everything, but to speak of her overmuch causes me pain."

Haldir nodded in sympathy.

"You will not have much need to talk, but you will wish to listen. Walk with us."

Rumil and Orophin cast her slightly anxious looks once more, as Haldir led the way into the forest.

"You have come to us at the end of summer," he said, his voice raised to reach Keren who was trotting to keep up behind him. "The trees will be changing soon."

She looked up at the boughs overhead. From her viewpoint all was silver – the trunks of the great tall trees, taller than any she had seen before, were silver-grey, the underside of the leaves a radiant shining silver. When the light breeze blew through them she could see the topside of the leaf was a rich dark green.

"In autumn the undersides turn gold," Haldir explained.

Keren stared upwards as she walked, open-mouthed. She could not imagine looking up into a field of golden leaves, and part of her, strange as all this was, wished she could stay a whole year to witness all the changes of the seasons.

"How much do you know of Lothlòrien?" Haldir asked, bringing her out of her reverie. They were still maintaining a fast pace as they followed a smooth path through the trees.

"Nothing," Keren said, slightly breathlessly. "Nothing at all. Please, can we slow down a little?"

Haldir stopped and looked back to see Keren catching her breath.

"My apologies," he said. "Not since your mother was here have I had to wait for anybody. We are swift of foot by nature."

Keren frowned a little, for she had always thought herself physically fit.

"Were you planning on telling me anything of her?" she said, a little grumpily.

"I was," he said seriously. "But first I must tell you of your grandmother. And it is fitting that I tell you as we walk, for this is the very path I ran down with her in my arms."

Keren felt a little flicker of panic again as she recalled the scene from her dream. Her grandmother – for that was who she knew the girl in the dream must have been – had spoken of her family. _Their_ family.

"You mentioned a dream," Haldir said, as if reading her mind. His two brothers drew a little closer, silent figures which Keren had to admit to herself unnerved her a little. Few elves had she met, but at least all of them so far could speak her language. Had these two never left this land?

"Yes," Keren began, dragging her mind back to Haldir. "On the mountain pass, I dreamt I was pregnant, that the people I was travelling with – my… my family – were killed by orcs, and that you took me away and wanted to save me. My name was Keren in the dream too, but my family were strangers to me, I'd never seen them before in my life. You were running, and carrying me – I was going to give birth. I said my name and then I – no, she – no, _I_ , woke up."

Once the translating was done, Haldir was silent for a time, and Keren did not miss the glance that passed between the three brothers. His walk slowed to a normal pace.

"You have just described the moment we met your grandmother," he said simply.

Keren nodded, expecting this. She did not want to think about it too hard, but she had a strong suspicion that it had something to do with her crystal.

"Messages come to us in dreams," Haldir explained. "Do not be fearful. And of course, you have Tinunil, which will no doubt help clearer – "

"I have who?" Keren interrupted.

"The crystal," Haldir said, not even looking at her, as if this was the most straight-forward conversation in the world. "Given to your mother by the Lady Galadriel, then to you. So, yes, the dream you had was no doubt a message sent by the…"

But his voice disappeared, taken over by the rushing in Keren's ears. Her crystal had a name, Haldir knew it had been her mother's, had known she now had it.

Her mind was reeling at this turn of events, but when she forced herself to concentrate on what was happening he was still talking as if nothing was amiss.

"… but that is for the Lady to tell. We must start at the beginning."

They were deep into the forest now, but despite the trees growing closer together, there was still light from above from the silver leaves.

"As your dream showed you," Haldir went on, "we came across your grandmother and her family on the pass of Caradhras, past the worst of the snow, very close to its end, near to Nanduhirion – Mirrormere in your tongue. How they had made it so far unaided, and that with three women and a young boy travelling… They were foolish to set out. But it appeared your great-grandfather was driven by gold, which brought only death to him, his wife and their children. Your grandmother was not with us long enough to tell us how much in favour she and the rest were of undertaking the journey."

"Not with you?" Keren latched onto the little detail. "She left?"

"She died," Haldir said.

Keren blinked at the bluntness of the words, for all they were said with sorrow.

"What – what happened to her? Did you find somewhere, did she…?" Keren tailed off.

"We ran for a full day, taking it in turns to carry her," Haldir explained. "Once across our borders we took this path. We got her all the way to Caras Galadhon, in the heart of the golden wood, and left her with some of our healers, for greatly wearied we were after covering such a great distance in so little time, with no horses for aid. She was far into childbirth by then – from where we lay resting we could hear her cries as she laboured. An hour passed, and still her cries echoed through the trees, and she was calling for somebody – I think her mind had begun to wander by then. We felt revived enough to go to her side, but the healers sent us away. So we went back to our talan, and from there we heard one great scream, then all was silent."

Keren found she was holding her breath as she took in the last moments of her grandmother, a woman neither she nor her mother had known.

"We knew then that she had died," Haldir went on, "and much grief we felt, having travelled far with her to save her. We went to the talan where she lay, expecting to see both her and the child dead. But, whilst Keren lay still on the bed, the child was wriggling, quiet but alive, in the arms of Cileth, one of the healers, who was hard pressed to control the babe."

Rumil and Orophin, silently walking along in their wake, had understood none of what their brother had said, but the name Cileth must have prompted something, for they both smiled as if remembering something.

"I know not why, but a fierce protection for the child stirred in my heart, and I speak for my brothers in saying that this was something we all grew to feel. But then, in that moment, seeing a child – for a child Keren was, to my eyes, as are you – seeing her dead in Lòrien, her newborn babe helpless, defenceless, with no family, then was when it began for me. I remember taking the child from Cileth, and cradling it close, and vowing to protect it. Cileth whispered that it was a girl. I did not know if the Lord and Lady yet knew of her presence, but I longed to present her to them as a gift of sorts, as a brave survivor of a horrific birth. And all this from me, an elf who had never encountered a human child before."

His eyes had grown far away, and Keren found a new feeling in her heart for this elf, who had been perfectly polite and formal until now, but had appeared not to have the warmth of her good friend from Mirkwood. Hearing his story she respected him, and felt a kinship rising within her.

"And do you know how the babe repaid me for my kind thoughts?" he said, a slight smile on his face.

Keren shook her head, returning the smile, for his face greatly changed when he recalled happy memories it seemed.

"She screamed in my face," he said wryly. "The adorable wriggling child had become a wailing, red creature as soon as she was in my arms. And so I called her Borneth – fiery girl."

At once Keren was pulled up short, and she felt something in her stomach drop.

"Then – then there has been a mistake," she said, "for my mother's name is Orwen. You know this, you said it. I don't understand."

"For the first twenty-one years of her life she was named Borneth," Haldir explained. "But she of course outgrew being a red and screaming babe, and so she outgrew her name, so when the time arrived in which she came of age by the reckoning of man, the Lady granted her another. A name is a gift we may give to friends of elves, and by then your mother was almost one of us, so it was a gift the Lady was happy to bestow. She was then named Orwen, for she loved the light of the sun. Since she was a tiny child she wished to climb to the tops of the trees to feel the warmth of it on her face."

Keren was stunned. This did not match the image of her mother sat in a dark, cold room, quietly living out the last of her days, even turning her face from the window, as if the sight of the outside world was too painful.

"My mother… My mother was here for over twenty years?"

Keren belatedly realised she had stopped walking. The forest was silent except for the breeze lifting the leaves on the silver trees. A young girl, with long red hair and freckled skin, ran through her mind's eye, and began climbing the nearest tree. She was laughing, carefree. How had she become the still, sad, broken woman who had left her daughters for death? Nothing seemed to fit.

"From her birth until she came of age." Haldir answered the question she had forgotten she had asked. "Then the Lady said it was time she experienced the world of her people. I went with her on the long road to Minas Tirith, and there we parted, I thought forever, and it was a sorrowful journey home. But three years later she returned to us, much changed. She had married, and had a child – "

"Palen?" Keren asked eagerly.

"That was the name she shared with us, yes," Haldir replied. "But for all she should be happy, she seemed faded, drained from within. She herself had felt this, and had told us she could not sleep at night for thinking about home – she meant here.

She ran away from her house in the city of men one night, travelling entirely alone, when there were many dangers on the road – she was always fearless, then. When she arrived here we chided her at first, fearful of what she may have encountered. But it appeared there was no harm done, and that night the four of us gathered together, and she shared what had happened since she left us."

He halted, and looked awkwardly at Keren, who was quietly dealing with the fact that her mother had run away from her father and, more importantly, Palen.

"I know not how to say such things as I must," Haldir went on. "Her child, your sister, was not even a year old, and yet your mother abandoned her babe, for what she perceived to be her homeland. But she knew that she could find no true home here, not now she had made the choice to marry and start a family. She was welcomed back warmly, but all knew she had done a grave wrong in leaving her child, and must return to Minas Tirith before Palen grew old enough to be aware that her mother was absent. And yet her heart cried for this place, and it seemed when she was away that she could not find life bearable."

Keren knew not what to say. She remembered Faramir speaking of his mother, of how once she had had to move away from the seashore she dwindled and died. Had the same happened to her mother?

"All of this," Keren began, "it is like you are talking of a stranger, not my mother."

But Haldir did not need to speak for Keren to know her answer. Her mother had indeed been a stranger to her, and had kept this tale hidden, taken it to her death.

 _Why?_ Keren wondered.

"I do not know the details of the next part of the tale," Haldir said. "You must ask the Lady Galadriel for the whole of it. But I do know that on her return to Minas Tirith, the Lady gave Orwen that crystal you are now clutching in your hand."

Keren looked down, and realised that she had got the shining, white stone out of its pouch, and was indeed holding it tightly in her fist.

"What the Lady's motives were, I knew not, and still do not know," the elf said. "But after your mother left for a second time, she did not return. News reached us that another child had been born, another girl. She had been named for the brave girl who had died here, the mother of my Orwen…"

With these words, Haldir held out his hand as if to touch her face, but drew it back quickly as Keren flinched.

"She wasn't your Orwen," she said sharply. "My mother belonged to no-one."

Haldir drew back in surprise.

"Keren, you misunderstand me, I – "

"She loved my father, and he loved her. That is why he does not love _us_ , because we remind him of her, and he does not forgive her for dying, for… for leaving him."

Understanding flooded Keren. All these years, not only did her father grieve her mother's death, but he was hiding the pain, the shame, that the wife he loved had been so unhappy with him that she had run away, facing the untold danger of the wild rather than stay with him, and then she had died pining for her true home. He was fearful of the elves that her mother had loved, and angry, jealous of her love for them. All was made clear now – Keren and Palen growing up being read tales of the Eldest and their deeds, falling in love with the idea of the mysterious elven folk – all reminders of the people who had stolen their mother from them. For Orwen had only been truly happy when she was telling her daughters stories of elves. Of her adopted people.

And now she, his youngest daughter, had followed in her mother's footsteps, had gone in search of them herself. Her insides twisted at the thought of how much pain that must have brought him, and what it must have cost him to relive his fear.

 _You'll not be going north? No child of mine is going beyond the Entwash, nor do I even want you in sight of it._

And yet he had not stopped her. And now he would not know where she was, or when she would return.

"My father… he could not keep her," she said. "But you… she was not yours either!"

"That's as may be, but – " the elf had clearly not expected Keren to react this way.

"And now you are telling me that she didn't love us at all, that she _ran away_ , that she left all her family behind to go and… and _get lost in a wood with some elves_ , all because she wasn't happy with how her life had turned out!"

All went silent, as she realised the irony of her words.

Haldir looked grudgingly amused.

"Like mother, like daughter?" he said.

" _What_ did you say?" Keren retorted quickly.

Haldir tried a different approach.

"Do you love your sister, Keren?" he asked softly.

"Of course."

"Do you love your father?"

She took a lot longer to answer, for she knew her answer would be different now.

"…Yes. Somewhere deep inside me."

"And you have left them to come here, as she did, on no more than a word given to you by a stranger," Haldir said. "Your mother ran away through despair, from a situation she felt she could no longer cope with. Like you."

"How did you know I – "

"And then she went back," Haldir did not even blink at her interruption, "and faced it. Like you will."

"But then she _died_ , going back _killed her._ " Keren could not seem to be able to get her point across. "Palen, father, me, we made her so unhappy we killed her."

"No, Keren, no," Haldir said as he drew closer, for he was not sure she was yet aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. "You were all the happiness she had, in the world of Men. It was you who were keeping her alive."

Silence was around them once more as Keren tried to take in the words.

"Then we failed, didn't we?" she said eventually, bitterly. "For she is dead, and my father is dead inside. And I am… I am just lost, so lost."

And then before she knew what was happening she was crying openly, and Haldir had taken her in his arms. She was not at all surprised to feel his lips on her forehead, and there it was, that feeling again, the kinship. Not since Beregond hugged her goodbye had she felt it, the presence of a father.

"Forgive me if I have crossed the bounds of propriety. I loved your mother, very much," Haldir said softly, while Rumil and Orophin stood to one side, watching in shock, "and I see her spirit, before it was broken, in you." He pulled away and held her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. "I will not let that spirit break again."

"It was nearly broken," was all Keren could think of to say, after a long pause.

"And now?" Haldir asked.

"Now I am healing, after many months."

"Do you wish to share with me, with us," he added belatedly, "any of your tale?"

"I can," she said, pulling herself together, "but on one condition."

She looked pointedly at Rumil and Orophin, who had been watching the exchange back and forth with confused faces.

"If it is within my power to do," Haldir said.

"It is," Keren nodded. "If we are to be companions here, I wish for you to teach me how to speak your language."

Haldir gave his brothers a pleased look as he shared her request.

"And why," he asked, turning back to her, "do you wish to learn the tongue of our folk?"

Keren allowed her lips to purse as she casually shrugged one shoulder.

"That is part of my tale," she said.

* * *

A leisurely walk of a few hours brought them close to their destination. Keren walked slowly and silently, her mind busy processing all she had been told. She knew there was so much more to learn of her mother, but for now she was drinking in all the details she had, and trying to form a picture in her mind of her mother perhaps at her own age – long curling red hair, freckled face, a smile. And yet Keren felt distant from this new, happy version of Orwen, and she had not yet found the peace she had thought she would encounter once she had discovered the truth.

She could hear the elven city high in the trees before she saw it, for voices were raised in song – the most beautiful, unearthly sounds filled the silver roof above them, and she could no longer tell if it was night or day beyond the tops of the trees. Haldir brought them out onto a ridge of land, overlooking a valley of closely-packed trees, and she saw that it was night, and a strange silvery-white light lit the trees on the hill from within.

"There lies Caras Galadhon," he said, pointing to the hill in the middle of the valley, where the trees seemed even taller, and was the source of the music she could hear. "Our home, and yours, for as long as you need it to be."

Keren allowed herself a moment to stand and stare.

She had made it. Since she was a child, she had harboured a secret desire to run away and find the elves. Only now was it becoming plain to her why this may have been, and only now had she realised she had achieved her wish.

The way she had got there had not been without its trials – every morning she still woke with a memory of Faramir whispering through her mind, of what might have, should have, been. But they were disappearing faster now. Once she would have been sad about this, at the thought of him leaving her, even as a memory. But now she felt as if she was slowly being released from something that had held her prisoner since she was a child.

"You will be free there," Haldir said, a little uncannily for Keren's liking, "to come and go as you wish. Although I know the Lady will wish to speak with you once you have settled. There is much for you to learn, of which we do not have the means to tell you."

"Where will I stay?" Keren wondered.

"With us," Haldir replied, "until the lady chooses."

"Oh." She had thought she would be placed with the female elves.

"Your mother always lived within calling distance of us, and that shall be where you stay. For we are to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Keren asked warily, for with Sauron all but dust surely there was nothing to fear in the heart of the Elvish kingdom.

"Prying eyes mostly, coming to spy before you are ready to be seen," he said warily. "Our people, those of us who did not journey south with the Lord and Lady, will be most desirous to see you, and all will wish to hear your story. You have naught to fear from any elf, but we can be pressing to humans in our desire for knowledge. We do not sleep."

"I know," Keren said through slightly gritted teeth. She was not relishing the thought of being surrounded for miles in every direction by figures staring blankly out from dead eyes – the only form of rest they occasionally needed.

"You will be on the talan below us, but with all privacy, for the leaves shall shield you from where we shall pass your quarters."

Haldir sounded reassuring, but Keren was feeling uncomfortable at being in such close proximity to three males. Memories of first meeting Legolas and literally fleeing from his closeness made her blush.

"Keren?" Haldir had noticed.

She looked up, trying to read his expression. She knew what men were like, and she did not trust leaves overmuch, particularly when the wind blew.

"You have nothing to fear from us," he said, sensing her discomfort.

Her crystal reminded her of its presence, still clutched in her hand.

 _True_ , a voice said within her. _Trust them. They are family._

Haldir, nor the others, had noticed anything amiss. But she knew she had found a home, for now.


	23. Chapter 5 - Elunis

**Author note: I'm so sorry it's been a QUARTER OF A YEAR since I last updated. Summer is always really busy for me. Anyway, thank you new followers, favs and reviewers (especially Certh for your flurry of encouraging, constructive and interesting reviews for each chapter). I won't hold you up with more waffle other than to say please keep the reviews coming in! I've missed this story while I've been busy and will be really glad to read people's thoughts on it. Welcome back to Lothlorien. x**

 **Chapter Five - Elunis**

The days seemed long in Lothlorien. Keren had thought it was because she initially had very little to do, but once she had several hours each day filled with lessons and tours with the Marchwardens she still found the hours went slower than at home. She tried not to think too hard about it, as the word _magic_ was never far away in her mind, and it unnerved her.

Haldir, Rumil and Orophin alternated their time with her, as each had his duties to fulfil, although Haldir had said that their hours on duty had more than halved since the fall of Sauron. Evil seemed to be retreating everywhere, as if the earth could no longer sustain it.

She had quickly got used to the sound of the gentle breeze rustling the leaves all day, but she had never had to fight the sound to get to sleep, as it seemed to mysteriously disappear with the sun, all becoming still and silent when night fell. The atmosphere was very different when the sun did not shine – on her first night there Keren had not been able to sleep, and went for a walk under the trees, somehow lit by a moon that was hidden from sight. She had found it eerie and unsettling, the image of her mother wandering the silent glades no longer comforting but frightening, and she had hastened back to the talan, shivering.

The strange paradox of night and day, moon and sun, fear and fun stayed with her long after that first night. The hours under shining silver and green were full of laughter, adventure and light. As soon as the sun set, though, she was frightened, for it seemed a different, mysterious land, so very far from home.

One comforting thing she had not expected, however, was the speed with which she was picking up the language. Before, during the rare times she had heard Elvish spoken, she had not been able to glean the meaning of any words, nor even tell that any had been repeated, other than names. But when the three brothers were patient with her, and repeated their phrases slowly, she was able to easily copy the sounds and intonation, until she had developed an impressive accent within a few weeks. It took a little longer to master what was actually being said, however, which was what her lessons with Haldir were for. He often gently mocked her for being able to repeat a sentence perfectly after learning it from his brothers, without having any idea what it meant.

"Just like your mother," he would often say, which would by degrees please and infuriate her.

It was a revelation when Keren discovered her mother had spoken Sindarin fluently. She must have gone to great trouble in Minas Tirith to hide any trace of a Lorien accent, for questions would have been asked on hearing such a voice come out of a woman of Gondor. When any of the Elves Keren had come across spoke Westron it was clear they did not speak like Men. All in Lothlorien shared the curious rolling 'r' that Legolas possessed, but Haldir explained that if Keren listened closely she would notice subtle differences between the Lorien and Mirkwood elves.

"Your prince speaks the same tongue as us," Haldir explained, once Keren had told the brothers of her friendship with Legolas, whom they had all previously met, "but we are many leagues apart, and each land has its own accent."

"But you can understand each other?" Keren wondered.

"Try that in Sindarin," Haldir instructed.

"Di cheniog?" Keren said after a little thought.

"Farn." Haldir half-praised her, then went on in Westron. "Of course we understand, as you could easily understand your hobbit friends. They may have some words that are peculiar to their home, but nothing so far removed that it cannot be easily explained."

"So…" Keren began, then tailed off, suddenly shy about what she had been waiting a long time to find out.

"Ask your question," Haldir said, with a strange look.

"So you could tell me what something meant – something Legolas said to me?" she said quietly.

"If you wish," he replied. "And what did the prince have to say to you?"

Keren wondered at the slightly condescending tone in her mentor's voice, but was it towards her or her friend?

"He – he said…" she paused whilst making sure she quoted Legolas exactly. "Cuio vê, Keren, no gelin idh raid lîn."

She watched Haldir's face carefully, but saw very little reaction other than what was, perhaps, mild relief.

"Well, that is simple," he said. "Your friend said, 'farewell, Keren, may your paths be green.'

Keren allowed the lovely words to flow around her, missing her friend more than ever, but Haldir went on with his lesson.

"Of course, in Lòrien some of the Lady's court would say, 'no gelin _in_ raid _dhîn_ , for they keep the tongue of Doriath alive, but as you see, it would be clear enough to them. And besides, they speak many tongues, including some which..."

Keren nodded vaguely, no longer listening.

 _May your paths be green._ So that was the meaning of those softly spoken words, words he had said to her on two occasions. She remembered the differing ways they were delivered – firstly under the oak tree, with solemnity and the belief that their paths would not cross again; secondly as he rode away from her, with his strange smile and a promise that they would meet in the future, though neither could guess when that would be. It was a nice wish for her: a peaceful, easy future. A strange shiver came over her however, for it reminded her of the fateful green gown that had apparently failed to win Faramir over.

 _Or had it?_ She often found herself still pondering the steward's feelings for her in those days. It was as if his head and soul were two very different things – she still believed that they were connected, but just not in the way she had hoped or prepared for. Every now and then he would jolt into her consciousness, sometimes causing a physical reaction as she involuntarily shrugged or shook her head. Haldir had asked for her tale and he had got it, and when these strange moments took her he had learnt to be silent. She did not know what he thought about it.

She knew what she thought, for hadn't Haldir said to her that here, in Caras Galadhon, she would be free? But Faramir had not left her mind, not yet. During the day he was barely granted a second of her thoughts, but at night… Keren blamed the moon, and the all-pervading atmosphere of mystery, but still sometimes those old, wishful thoughts would return, even though they meant little to her now. She was learning that the process of forgetting someone who had occupied a part of her for so long was a slow one, and she was beginning to realise that it may be years until she could think of him with indifference.

But, for the most part, she had far more to occupy her thoughts. She was waiting, every day, for the summons from Lady Galadriel. Surely soon she must call Keren to her side and tell her everything, as she had promised she would. How long was the Lady expecting her to 'settle in' to Elvish life before they met? The only way she could keep track of time was by the changing of the leaves, and by looking up at the now-golden underside of the canopy, she judged that summer must be over, and she had been in Lorien months rather than weeks. The Golden Wood did not have a true winter, and she knew that when the leaves finally fell there would be beautiful golden flowers revealed, heralding the spring. Keren decided that if Galadriel had not shared her secrets by then, then she would march right up to the Lady's talan and refuse to leave until she had the answers.

As well as her Sindarin lessons with the Marchwardens, there had been many meetings – formal and informal – with the elven folk. Keren learnt that elves were much like the race of men, in that none were the same. Some were haughty and proud, some were shy and gentle. They were funny, or bossy, or kind, young by their reckoning or ancient, wise or a little silly. Most sang beautifully, some played the harp or the flute, whilst a very few did not like music at all, and only sang the hymns to the Valar. Some ate meat, some did not. Those who had married or mated would sometimes kiss their partner openly, often with much ardour, whilst others would look on shocked or embarrassed at such licentious behaviour. Some could dance for hours, and some would sit quietly and talk.

But some things they all had in common – long limbs, lithe bodies that moved with grace and ease, and faces of near-indescribable beauty. As much as they dressed Keren up in their style of clothing – fitted and fashioned just for her, long and flowing and nothing like the practical shift and kirtle from what seemed like a lifetime ago in the Houses of Healing – she was not and never would be like one of them. The only reason why she may draw a gaze from amongst a crowd now would be because she was a foot smaller than even the shortest of them. But then she often thought that, even amongst her own kind, she had never been the one that people admired.

 _Except for one_ , she silently reminded herself sometimes when she felt a little self-conscious amongst all the supernatural beauty. _He could not take his eyes off me, then._

Her plain clothes, which she had set out in all those months ago, lay bundled in the bottom of her never-opened travel sack, a silent memory of her old life. The green gown she had left behind in Minas Tirith, for she felt it had caused enough trouble.

* * *

One night, when the leaves had just begun to fall, Keren woke from a dream she could not remember. She felt disorientated and confused, and it took her a little while to remember where she was. It had been so long since she had lain in her tiny bed opposite Palen's, yet she had woken up reaching out for her sister's hand.

"Pal?" Keren whispered foolishly, for she knew her sister could not be there, and was many leagues away in her own bed. And yet her presence had felt so near.

The night was very still, as always. The strange silvery light that appeared to have no source was enough for her to see dimly by. She heard no sounds from the telain above and below, where the three brothers must lay resting. Feeling very awake, and frustrated at the stillness, she shot her legs over the side of the low bed and stood up quickly.

Not knowing where she was going, or what she planned to do when she got there, she stole down the thin steps that ran around the trunk of the great mallorn tree she now called home. If the brothers heard her they gave no sign of trying to stop her.

Her bare feet touched cool grass beneath the tree, but she did not stop, and allowed her legs to take her where they wanted to go. Past many trees she went, not rushing but moving with purpose, and it seemed that no one saw or heard her. It was an area that was not entirely unfamiliar to her, for Haldir had taken her on many walks through the wood, and she had even climbed a few trees as her mother had done. Now, with her feet bare, dressed all in white, she felt closer to her mother and her elvish ways than ever before. She realised, not without a shudder, that she felt as if she belonged to the elvish kingdom for the first time. She _was_ elf-friend, but it was not the warm-comforting feeling she was expecting. She felt almost a stranger to herself.

She had long passed where she had reached on her first night, where she had grown afraid of the stillness. And still she kept walking, until she realised she had come to a place where she had not been before. There was a gap in the leaves, and moonlight shone down, lighting a path through the trees before her. For the first time she paused and took stock of the situation, and wondered what on earth had possessed her to wander so far alone at night.

 _Just turn around and walk straight until you find a familiar place_ , she thought, as rationally as she could.

But she did not turn around, for just then she saw someone moving in the shadows just beyond the moonbeam. She was not afraid, for she felt the figure looked familiar, but nor was she entirely at ease. Her skin seemed to prickle with static, and she took another step forward, then another, until she was walking in the footsteps of the person ahead, and following them down the path lit by the moon.

They did not turn around to see who was following them, and Keren had a horrible feeling that she, for it was a she, _knew_ it was her, and _wanted_ her to follow.

She passed through a patch of shadow, and for a moment all was in total darkness. She blindly walked forwards and emerged into a glade, with no sign of the elf she had been following. She frowned to herself, looking around, still feeling watched. Then, at the edge of the clearing, between two small, straight trees, she saw two statues, and froze.

They were carved out of a smooth, light grey stone, two figures in long flowing robes, standing with eyes closed. One was her mother. One was her.

She grabbed at the crystal in its pouch hanging at her waist, as she always did when frightened, but somehow knew no voice would come from it this time.

"Tinunil will not give you an answer," said another voice, although this one was real, and just behind her shoulder.

Keren spun on the spot, and beheld the figure she had been following. It was the elf on the mountain pass, the one who had sat still and silent behind Keren for most of the journey, and had ultimately bored her with her lack of communication. She still did not smile.

"Just look again, without fear, and you will understand." The elf continued.

Keren, not knowing what to say, did as instructed. She walked a little closer to the statues, which were life-size, and standing close beside each other. Her eyes widened as she read the names on the plinths below them: KEREN. ORWEN.

Seeing her mother's name she ran forward until she was within touching distance of them. The faces had become clearer as she approached, and she could now see that the figure on the left was not her after all, although so alike she could see where her initial shock had come from. The face was thinner, and the nose was smaller, but the same high forehead was there, the same gently curved eyebrows and wide mouth. She realised, her heart pounding, that she was looking at the face of her grandmother.

Her eyes were closed, and a gentle smile was on her lips, whilst her hands were cradling a slightly rounded belly.

"She was buried here. Her body lies beneath your feet." The strange, sad voice said, from behind her. "Her fea is free."

"My grandmother," Keren whispered, all she could find to say. "And…"

She tailed off as she looked at the statue of her mother, drinking in the sight of her beloved face. The statue's arms were spread wide as if embracing the air, and her head was thrown back slightly, eyes closed in rapture. The lips were parted and slightly curled at the corners in the start of a smile, revealing tips of straight teeth, rounded cheeks, and slight crinkles at the corner of her eyes. One foot was before the other, as though as she was running or walking quickly into a breeze, and indeed her hair had been carved in strands that appeared to be blowing in the wind, streaming behind her. Keren followed the statue's gaze, and saw it pointed up to the gap in the leaves. When the sun shone it would shine on her face, just like Haldir said she had loved.

"This is…" Keren found it hard to speak. "This is not my mother."

She began to feel strangely panicky. No, this was not her mother. Her mother had been a quiet, lonely, scared woman, who lavished all her pent-up kindness on her daughters, as they were the only ones she allowed near. She had spoken, had told her stories, in a hushed, secretive voice. She had died afraid to even look out of the window onto the dawning day. Her mother was buried along with everyone else in the city, beneath a plain nondescript stone with her name and the date of her death, for no one had known the date of her birth. But this statue looked like a woman who would call her name out to the sky, who would dance and sing and laugh and cry with joy, who would _feel_.

"This is the Orwen all who dwell here knew and remember," said the elf, still behind her. "She is the woman who birthed you, who loved you. She was just hidden from your sight."

The thought was too painful for Keren, and indeed her mind seemed to reject it, for she heard herself ask an unrelated question.

"Who _are_ you?" She turned on the spot, her back to her forebears of stone, and stared accusingly at the elf before her.

"I am called Elunis. For more than an age I have walked the paths of the Golden Wood, though I have few friends here, for I keep to still places, and speak but rarely."

Keren's brow furrowed at this strange statement.

"Does the Lady – "

"Galadriel knows and loves me, and she and I have had much discourse since she came here."

"But – "

"She would like to see you now, tonight. I shall take you to her."

The strange elf turned and walked back the way they had come.

"How did you know where to find me?" Keren's voice sounded shrill in the quiet glade.

Elunis stopped and turned her head, her golden hair swaying down her back.

"I could ask the same of you, elf-friend," she said, "but find me you did, and now you will know how to find this place, should you ever wish to come here again. For now, though, follow me – the Lady is impatient to speak with you."

Keren turned and took one last look at her mother's carved face. She knew not how to feel about this strange, silent place where her grandmother's remains lay hallowed, but nevertheless she vowed to return – in sunlight.

She watched as Elunis walked quickly through the trees, barefoot and with no sound, and felt the shadows close in around her until she was compelled to run after the elf, despite her strangeness.

"If the Lady is so impatient to see me, why has she waited months to summon me?" Keren asked, a little out of breath as she struggled once again to keep up with elvish pace.

"She was waiting for the right time, and now the time is here she is impatient," Elunis replied. "I am sure you can understand that?"

The elf did not look down at her as she spoke, and Keren studied her profile.

"You look like her," she said. "The Lady."

Elunis smiled, for the first time.

"No kin am I of Galadriel. And yet she is dear to me. As was your mother, as are you."

Keren stopped walking.

"I?" she said to Elunis's back. "But we had not met until the mountain pass."

"Are all those dear to us one's that we have met?" the elf said as she slowed her pace a little to allow Keren to catch up. "Your sister's child, when he arrives, will be dear to you, and yet there is no power in the world that will enable you to meet him before his arrival."

"My – my sister's _child_? What do you mean?" Keren suddenly felt giddy.

"The friends of Orwen hear many things of her daughters, though they are far away," Elunis replied.

"Palen – Palen is with child?"

Another elusive smile spread across Elunis's lips.

"Why – why was I not informed?" was all Keren could find to say. "How long have people here known? _How_ do people here know?"

"The Lady may explain, if she chooses. But we draw near – "

"If she _chooses_?" Keren nearly exploded. "It's _my_ family! Who does she think she is?"

"She is the most powerful of her kind in this, perhaps any, Age." Elunis grew stern and cold once more, her voice slightly raised. "Since the First Age on Middle-Earth, and before that in lands you can only imagine, she has grown in wisdom, cast off her pride, and honed her skills. None like her walk this Earth, for she has suffered, and made grave errors, and yet now she is amongst the great. She has sinned and repented. She is loved and feared. Kind beyond all to those who need kindness, fierce and terrible to her enemies. There are none wiser in this Middle-Earth, none more noble nor of such high lineage amongst the elves. And you, daughter of a Gondorian carpenter, will do well to remember that."

Keren felt humbled and furious at the same time.

"Far greater is the lady than I, far more wise and brave it is laughable to even compare us, but our difference in birth is not the reason for that. Humble beginnings do not mean you are doomed to obscurity, to hide in the shadows of others greater than you, to always wish you could be them, or be with them."

And with that comment Elunis broke into a smile of such beauty Keren imagined she could feel a strange power coming from it.

"Well spoken, daughter of Orwen," Elunis said, beaming. "Now you are quite ready to follow your new path. For until now, your heart was unsure."

Keren knew not what to say, nor what to make of the elf's strange comments.

"Galadriel awaits you," Elunis went on. "Follow this path a little further and you will come upon her garden. Pass through the hedge and cross the lawn, 'til you see stone steps, which will lead you down into a hollow. By the stream in that hollow you shall find her."

"Will you not walk with me to see your friend?" Keren wondered.

"My part is done. She summoned me to fetch you, but now you must go alone. Reflect on all that has happened, for she may ask you questions you were not expecting. Keep Tinunil close to hand and have courage. It is not the Lady's part to make you afraid, but to help you learn. Farewell, dear one."

As easily as water flowing from a spring, she knelt and kissed Keren's brow.

"Remember what you are destined for, for I know in these times it is easy to forget."

And with those strange words the elf left her, passing through the trees silent and tall, until Keren could see her no longer.

Masking a little shiver, Keren turned away and set her feet towards Galadriel's garden. It was still full night, but the moonlight reached down and gave her confidence to continue on.

She walked slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. Her meeting with Elunis had been unsettling, and she meant to ask the Lady of her strange friend, but they had much to discuss before she could get around to that. She found she could not think properly, nor devise any questions, although for months she had had many. All had escaped her, and she walked towards the Lady with a strangely blank yet busy mind, busy with nothingness.

A high hedge came into view, and she passed under an arch cut beneath it, into a wide garden, clear of trees and open to the stars. Cutting across the smooth grass, she spied the steps in the shadows at the edge of the lawn. Almost running with anticipation, she reached the top before suddenly taking stock of where she was and what she had come from.

Minas Tirith seemed in another time, another world. She found it hard to remember faces and names, and with a start she realised she could not remember the sound of Faramir's laugh, which she had treasured so dearly. She had forgotten the Warden's name, she had forgotten Ioreth's voice. She had not thought of Beregond or Bergil since…she could not remember. And Palen… was Palen truly pregnant? She had awoken with a certainty that her sister had called her name, and now that awakening had led her here. And yet. She could not place her foot on the first step. She was trembling.

 _Remember what you are destined for_ , Elunis's voice echoed back to her.

But she had forgotten. The crystal's prophecy, what was it? What was it?

"Daughter of Orwen, cease the nervous chatter in your mind and you will remember. You will also be better placed to listen. There is nothing to fear from me."

A low voice called to her from around the bend of the stream in the glade below.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Keren placed one bare foot on the cold stone steps, then another, and slowly, methodically, set a foot on each step, following the gentle curve, until, after what felt like hours, she was at the bottom, and she could take in the sight before her.

The Lady Galadriel stood alone, all in white, and a light seemed to shine from her, so that all around was lit as much by her as from the moon. Keren almost bolted at the sight, but she was held in place by what happened next.

 _Still your mind and your body, or you will learn naught of use. Nothing I do or say is to frighten you, but to help you._

The Lady's voice, echoing her head, as only the crystal's had done before. And yet it was not the same – this was far more direct, almost invasive.

She was held in place, almost spellbound she felt, and in such a state she was able to look around properly.

There was the lady, stood still and proud. There was the stream, rippling silently at her feet. And there, atop a small pedestal carved like a tree with broad branches, was a shallow bowl, with a silver jug beside it.

* * *

 **Author note: So we all recognise that particular image and know what's coming, right? Eek.**


End file.
